


All The Things

by April_Valentine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rickyl Writers' Group, Slow Burn, community theater, shameless pimping of a Broadway show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 107,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick Grimes, recently divorced and retired from the sheriff’s department after being wounded, decides to audition for a play, having enjoyed being in community theater years ago. While there, he meets some old friends from those days and makes some new ones. But there is one person there he isn’t sure about: Daryl Dixon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Ain't The Ganges, But You Go With What You Got

**Author's Note:**

> I will be updating as frequently as possible, hoping to make it at least once a week. 
> 
> Thanks to MaroonCamaro and MermaidSheenaz for betaing and cheer-leading this chapter. And to my other Rickyl Writers Group friends for all their support.

_“After they had explored all the suns in the universe, and all the planets of all the suns, they realized that there was no other life in the universe, and that they were alone. And they were very happy, because then they knew it was up to them to become all the things they had imagined they would find.”_  
**_― Lanford Wilson, Fifth of July_ **

Chapter One -- It Ain't The Ganges, But You Go With What You Got

 

 

Rick slipped into the auditorium as quietly as possible. He was late and the auditions had already gotten underway. Traffic had held him up – that and his nerves. It had been such a long time since he’d done a show at the community theater. He hadn’t been able to do things like that since before he was married. Since before he’d started on the force. Now that he was no longer married and no longer a sheriff, he figured it was time to go back and do some of the fun things he used to enjoy again. 

Rick had been shot in the line of duty six months ago. He’d been in a coma for four weeks and when he woke up, he found his whole world had changed. He wasn’t going to be able to work as a cop ever again and instead was put on disability. And his wife, Lori, had left him shortly after that.

Rick had tried to put those things behind him. There had been times when he wasn’t sure what hurt more, being dumped because he wasn’t able to earn the kind of living Lori wanted her husband to make -- he’d been aware that she hadn’t been in love with him anymore for a long time and that she had just used his injury as an excuse but it felt like he wasn’t man enough to deserve a wife -- or not to be able to be a sheriff. That hurt too. More than being someone’s husband, all he’d ever wanted to do was to help people and being a cop had fulfilled that dream, that need to step in and come to the aid of someone who’d been robbed or hurt, to keep the peace in their small Georgia county. Now, he was neither of those things anymore. 

And he had way too much time on his hands. He still had physical therapy once a week but otherwise, there wasn’t much to keep him occupied. He figured that his old love of getting up on stage would be a good way to spend his time. He wouldn’t have rehearsal conflicts, and it would be good to see people, to socialize. And he also hoped that being able to play a character would make him feel like he did still have some value, something to give others. Maybe he’d even get back to seeing some friends who were still in theater, he hoped. _If any of them are still around._

He already knew that his old friend Michonne was directing. They had done several shows together in college but he hadn’t seen her in years. He hoped she’d remember him but didn’t expect any special consideration when it came to being cast in the show. It was just nice to be auditioning for someone he already knew.

There was a fairly small group of people in the auditorium seats down front, waiting to be called on. He didn’t recognize anyone. Oh well, Rick thought. That was okay. That just meant he wouldn’t have any preconceived notions about the other actors auditioning. 

There was a young girl up on the stage, doing what looked to be a monologue. Rick quickly realized that it was from the show.

He’d found a copy of the script of “The Fifth of July” in the library and read through it in the three days since he’d learned about the auditions. It was a great play, both serious and funny, with quirky characters that had just enough realism in them to make them believable. He had laughed when he read it, and he had found his eyes welling with tears too. 

It was set in the late seventies, following the Viet Nam war – a time Rick himself had been too young to know much about, but he had watched movies about it. The characters, most of them, had been protestors against the war. And yet, the character that Rick was going to try out for, Ken, had ended up going to war anyway. Rick hadn’t fought in a war, but he had been on the front lines of the sheriff’s department and had used a gun, shot people and been shot himself. Ken Talley, despite not really being for the war, had still done his duty, and had been wounded. Like Rick, Ken had never fully recovered either. He had lost his legs in the war, so if he got the part, Rick would have to learn to walk as though he were wearing prosthetics. And like Rick, the character of Ken was trying to decide what to do with the rest of his life.

Rick thought that was interesting and he felt that he could bring something to the part that maybe others wouldn’t be able to, since he had been in a similar place in his personal life.

There was one other thing about the character. 

He was a gay man. 

Though Rick had been married for fifteen years, he figured he could still play the part of a gay guy. Deep down, he knew he had always been interested in other men, but since he’d fallen in love with Lori at such a young age, he had never acted on those feelings. Since becoming single again, he had thought about it more and more, yet he hadn’t really known where or how to start. Maybe, Rick told himself, if he had to kiss a guy on stage, he would at least get to know what it was like, to see if he liked it as much as he imagined he might. It certainly seemed easier than sauntering into the nearest gay bar and hoping somebody would buy him a drink. _Or something. What did gay men do to meet each other?_

The young girl on stage was reaching the end of her monologue. Her voice was rising and she was pointing her finger as if seeing someone in the distance.

“Look! Is that _she_?” the girl cried in great shock. “Is it SHE?” 

And then, gasping and clutching at her chest, the girl keeled over onto the floor, as if recognizing “she” was that impressive.

Rick thought it was funny that the playwright had decided to have her use proper grammar even as she emoted – it made the lines all the more laugh-worthy.

The girl suddenly got up, now seemingly explaining to her listeners what had happened. “She didn’t faint,” she said clearly, sounding annoyed that they had thought any such thing. “She died! Of cardiac arrest and amazement at the recognition of _me_ and my _magnitude!_ ”

The group waiting to try out couldn’t help but burst into laughter and applause. 

When it died down, Michonne called out. “That was great Beth. I love what you did with that monologue.”

The girl seemed to drop out of character, nodding and blushing, her long blonde ponytail bouncing as she descended the steps of the stage. “Thank you, Ms. Michonne!” she called happily.

“Who’s going to be next?” Michonne asked over the murmuring crowd.

Before anyone could respond, the doors behind Rick banged open and someone else entered the auditorium. At least he wasn’t the last to arrive after all, Rick thought, turning to see who it was.

“I’ll read next!” a deep voice rang out.

Rick grinned in recognition. The new person was his old friend Shane Walsh. They had done a number of shows together in the past and it seemed that Shane was still active in the local theater community. 

“Michonne? I’m not too late, am I?” he yelled down toward the group at the front of the big room, waving both arms.

“No, Shane, you’re not too late. I see you still love making a big entrance,” Michonne responded, shaking her head, her long dreads bouncing as she chuckled. “Who’s that with you?” She peered in Rick’s direction, shading her eyes with her hand as she tried to make him out.

“It’s Rick Grimes,” he answered. “I came in a few minutes ago but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Rick Grimes?” Michonne sounded surprised. “Really? You’re gonna read for my show?”

“Guess so,” he laughed, following Shane down the left side aisle toward Michonne and the other interested actors. “I know it’s been awhile,” he said more softly when he reached the end of the row she was seated in. 

Michonne got out of her seat and hurried to meet him on the aisle. She threw both arms around him in greeting. “I am so glad to see you,” she said, hugging him tightly. “Didn’t think you had the time for doing shows anymore.”

“Well, a lot has changed for me,” he said, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, especially since everyone seemed to be watching and listening. “And it looks like I do have the time now.”

“That’s great,” Michonne said, releasing him from the hug. “Have a seat and let me know when you’re ready.”

Rick nodded and found a seat next to a cute dark haired girl with a script in her hand. “Hi,” he said quickly. “Rick.” 

“Maggie,” she said in response, taking the hand he’d held out and giving it a quick shake. “that was my sister Beth up on stage a minute ago,” she added.

“She was really good,” Rick told her, meaning it. Beth would probably be great in the part of the teenager in the play.

Behind him, Shane was talking in a loud voice to Michonne. “I just heard about the auditions today,” he said in his assertive voice. “Thought I’d come and make sure you got enough guys for it.”

“I’m not casting the Roman army,” Michonne answered, chuckling a little.

Rick shook his head, privately thinking that although it was true that most community theater groups always had more women come out for the shows, with this one only needing four men and four women, it didn’t seem like it would be too hard to fill the roles.

Shane probably hadn’t even read the script and didn’t know the play, because the last person Rick could imagine portraying a gay character would be Shane, who was maybe the most macho and chauvinistic actor he’d ever met. Shane was known for having affairs with the women in the casts of the shows he did, not even staying with the same one for the entire rehearsal period or run of the show. It wasn’t that he was actively homophobic, but he preferred to be the romantic or heroic lead if he could. There wasn’t a role like that in this whole show. 

Still, it was good to see a friend from his past. Maybe he could hang out with Shane after the auditions were over. It had been a long time since Rick had gone for a meal or even a beer with anyone.

“Okay, everybody,” Michonne was saying as she resumed her seat in the center of the row. “Let’s get on with it.” 

Rick turned around to look in her direction, waiting to see who she was going to call on next or what part she was going to ask to be read for. 

Michonne paused, leaning toward a man seated on her right, whispering to him and watching as he pointed to some papers in his hand. He leaned forward to respond to something she said, and that’s when Rick got a good look at him.

There was something about him – the guy had straight hair that was kind of long; it fell over his face, nearly obscuring his eyes, though Rick could see his ear peeking through the strands on the side of his head. He had an interesting face, with sharp cheekbones and a light fuzz of beard on his chin and over his lip. His expression was diffident and until he leaned toward Michonne, he had been slouched down in his seat. Rick saw that he was wearing a sleeveless shirt, yet incongruously he had a leather vest on over it. As Rick watched, he produced a cigarette from his vest pocket and lit up right there in the auditorium, as if he didn’t care that there were laws against smoking in public places.

That’s when it hit him, that he knew this guy. Well, he didn’t really know him. But he knew who he was. Rick had arrested his brother – more than once. His brother was Merle Dixon, known well by the cops in the county as a drug user and sometime dealer, a guy who flouted not only those laws but saw nothing wrong in hunting without a license or driving without one. Merle had a younger brother who, if he was around when the cops came to take Merle in, used to cuss the officers out, threaten them and once he’d even thrown a brace of dead squirrels at Rick himself when he was walking toward the run down house they lived in. Rick had known the guy was just frustrated so he had pretty much let it go, although he really could have run him in for that. Yeah, it was Merle Dixon’s brother. Small world.

This wasn’t a guy Rick had ever thought to see in the auditorium of the community theater, unless he was there to rob people. Or maybe to just make fun of them, since to his knowledge the rough and caustic brother hadn’t ever been so much as arrested. He certainly didn’t strike Rick as the kind of guy who might want to get up on stage though. Maybe, since he was next to Michonne and conferring with her, he was working as her assistant and would be behind the scenes. Rick thought he remembered the guy having worked in construction. When or if he did work. Or was that Merle? Rick thought maybe Merle was still locked up at the moment, doing time for vehicular manslaughter in Georgia State Prison, having run over some old man when he was high a few years back.

Of all the people Rick had expected to run into here, tonight, it sure wasn’t this guy. Rick sort of hoped the man wouldn’t remember him, but those beady little eyes had probably memorized his face and could recall every single time Rick had been the arresting officer who’d come for his brother. He probably still laughed at the way Rick had ducked the string of squirrels that had been pitched at his head that one time too. 

How he was ever going to be in a show with this guy around, he didn’t know.

Well, maybe he wouldn’t even get cast. Shane was considered a big name in the little theatre community. He would probably get the role of Ken and he could most likely pull off the part of a gay man. Rick, who hadn’t done a show in fifteen years, would be lucky to be asked to be someone’s understudy. So it wasn’t worth worrying about whether he’d have to see Merle Dixon’s younger, weirder brother almost every day for the next two months.

Rick turned back in his seat, pulling his rolled up copy of the script out of his back pocket. _What was the guy’s name anyway?_ , he asked himself.

_Oh yeah._

The brother’s name was Daryl.


	2. I'm Gonna Bite That Toe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The auditions begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in the midst of getting ready for a local convention and setting up a new website but didn't want to delay this chapter. It's unbetaed so if you see anything that needs to be fixed, feel free to let me know in the comments. 
> 
> All the chapter titles are lines in the play.
> 
>  
> 
> [Fifth of July](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifth_of_July)

“Okay, then,” Michonne spoke loudly so all those auditioning could hear her. “Who is ready to read for the parts of Jed and Ken?”

A number of hands went up.

“Rick?” Michonne acknowledged him.

“I was planning on reading for Ken,” he told her. Next to him, Maggie looked him over and nodded.

“That’s great,” Michonne agreed. “And who will get up on stage with him and read the part of Jed?”

“Count me in,” Shane called out. Before Michonne could respond, he was out of his seat and charging up the steps to the stage. Rick followed at a more sedate pace. Once in the center of the stage, he turned to glance out towards the rows of seats, his gaze on Michonne and the Dixon brother next to her.

There were a few chairs and a tv tray table on the stage to represent the set. Both men sort of stood there waiting for some directions.

“Where do you want us to start?” Shane asked, looking eager. 

“I think at the top of the show,” Michonne said. “That would be page seven in the script. Have you read it, Shane?”

He shook his head. “Like I said, I just heard about the auditions. Got a copy I can borrow?”

As Rick watched, Daryl Dixon pulled a copy of the script from a pile on the seat next to him and pitched it toward the stage. Shane had to lean far to his left to grab for it, but he didn’t miss. Rick suppressed a chuckle. Dixon’s attitude was pretty apparent from the way he’d thrown the script. It was obvious what he thought of Shane not being prepared and Rick too was kind of amused. Still, Shane was good at thinking on his feet so he doubted the guy would give a bad reading even if he wasn’t prepared for the audition.

“Okay,” Michonne said. “Rick, you’ll be seated down stage left next to that table, listening to the recording. You’re hung over from the night before. Shane, as Jed, you’re coming in from outside. Just stand over to the far right until your line where you actually enter the room.” She waited until they got into their positions. “And remember guys, it’s the late 70s.”

Both men peered at their scripts for a moment.

“Whenever you’re ready, Shane,” Michonne directed.

Shane scanned down the page, reading out his first line.

“Light’s going. I’m about half blind.”

Rick, as Ken, pretended to shut off the imaginary tape recording his character was supposed to be listening to. “What say?”

“Don’t stop. I have to go back down.” Shane took a step toward him as if approaching the door. He had glanced at the script but then raised his eyes to deliver the line as if he were acting and not simply reading from the page. “I said the light’s going. Can’t see a thing down there.”

As Ken, Rick said, “Where have you been hiding all afternoon?”

Shane responded as Jed. “Aw, the stupid herb garden is going rank. The lavender’s all over the thyme, the angelica’s flopping all over the germander…” He paused, looking out toward Michonne. “I don’t know what those things even are.”

“They’re plants,” Michonne informed him. “Jed is a botanist and he’s talking about his garden.”

“Oh, right.” Shane gave an awkward smile and continued. “Where are you two friends?” Following the stage directions, he pantomimed opening a door and ‘entered’ the room.

Rick had rehearsed his next line and tried to give it the proper tone of sarcasm. “John is showing Gwen his home town – which should take about ten minutes.”

Shane reacted well, nodding. He heaved a sigh. “They came down to see me this afternoon. John was bragging about their garden in Carmel. It really pissed me off.” And he did sound annoyed. He walked toward Rick. “Must have thrown that lavender over my back. The whole garden smells like an English bathhouse. Check it out early. It’ll be grown over by noon.” He read the stage directions.

“Wait, what?” Shane again peered out toward Michonne, looking alarmed. “What does this say?”

Rick cleared his throat. “It says ‘kisses him’,” he supplied, his voice low, hoping it wouldn’t carry out to the seats.

“The fuck?” Shane had no intention of just acting as if he might have misread the stage directions. 

“You don’t have to actually kiss him right now,” Michonne said as if the revelation wasn’t what was causing Shane’s consternation. “Just walk over and bend down.”

Next to her, Dixon was rolling his eyes and shifting in his seat, turning so he didn’t have to watch the stage.

Shane cleared his throat loudly. He took deliberate strides over to the chair where Rick was seated. Then he bent stiffly forward, maintaining enough distance to be sure they weren’t touching.

Rick, trying to stay in character despite the fact that Shane had only just realized the characters were a couple, sighed and smiled up at him. “Holy God, you smell _terrific_!”

From the audience, Rick heard some applause and light laughter. Glancing in that direction, he saw Maggie and a few others smiling and clapping. Michonne was nodding, looking as if she liked his reading too.

Daryl Dixon had a hand over his mouth but was unable to suppress his guffaw.

Rick cringed. He didn’t want to be funny. He wanted to be taken seriously. After the way Shane had reacted, it was amazing that his line reading was in any way decent, but he didn’t think it was _funny_.

“Good save, Rick,” Michonne called out to him. “Look, let’s try another scene, okay?”

She gave them another page and they read a second scene, one from the end of Act One where Ken was doing exercises before going to bed. He was upset, saying how he was unable to teach now and wanting to sell the house. In the scene, Jed was supposed to get Ken up off the floor after he was finished with his exercises and carry him up the stairs, but they did it without the business, just reading the lines as with both Shane and Rick seated on chairs at center stage.

As Ken, Rick was supposed to be exhausted from his exercising and the preceding scenes. “Oh God… I really have done myself… in.”

Shane read Jed’s next line. “So what do we do? You want to sell the house and run?”

At first glance, Jed might have seemed angry at Ken, but Shane managed to put more emotion into it than that. He read it with some annoyance but with an underlying sense of patience and concern. 

Rick went on reading as Ken, trying to put the character’s fears and insecurities into his voice. “I can’t teach those kids, Jed. We can’t stay here…. I can’t walk into a classroom again.” Rick sighed, remembering how he’d felt when the doctors had told him he could never work as a cop again. He’d thought it was the end of the world. “I really have done myself in.”

Shane looked at him, his eyes full of caring. “Hang in there.” 

There was a pause as the final words hung in the air. A few of the people gathered clapped quietly.

Rick realized something he hadn’t thought of before. He’d thought that Shane wouldn’t be right for any of the roles in the show because he always liked to play the romantic or heroic lead and that there was no character in Fifth of July that fit that description. Now he realized that wasn’t exactly true. Of all the characters, Jed was the one who was steadfast, solid and honest and who showed his true feelings toward the man he loved. If Shane could deal with the gay aspect, he really would make a good Jed.

“That was great, guys,” Michonne told them. She turned to Daryl, whispering a few words to him and he jotted down some notes. 

“Okay,” Michonne spoke to the crowd again. “Let’s look at the character of Sally. Who would like to read?”

A woman in the front row raised her hand. Sally was the older character in the play, an aunt to Ken and his sister June. She was quirky, flighty and Rick had enjoyed her part in the show and was anxious to see someone bring her to life. As he and Shane climbed down from the stage, the woman from the front row was going up the steps.

She was a slender woman with short, greying hair, Rick noticed. As he took his seat next to Maggie, he heard her introduce herself. 

“I’m Carol Peletier,” she said, looking a bit awkward. 

Michonne gave her the page to read from and Carol started.

By the end of her reading, Rick was sure she would be cast. She had perfectly captured the combination of toughness and kookiness of the character.

He sat while a few other people read for parts. Another couple of guys read for the parts of Ken and Jed. The guy reading for Jed this time was a quietly unassuming man named Aaron. Rick liked the reading he gave. There was something really natural about it. And he didn’t look uncomfortable at the prospect of playing someone gay. 

Aaron sat down in one of the folding chairs, his feet propped on another one. Rick didn’t catch the name of the guy reading for Ken; he was seated back in same the chair on stage right as Rick had been earlier.

“I’m gonna bite that toe,” he read, putting a bit of a flirtatious leer into his voice as he glanced toward where Aaron had his feet propped.

Aaron barely looked at his script. “What toe?” He put a combination of appreciation and the pretense that he didn’t know what 'Ken' was talking about into the line.

“That one, the big dirty one,” the actor reading Ken replied, looking lecherous. Rick thought he was putting too much of a phony lisp into his voice. 

In the row behind him, Shane shifted uncomfortably.

These characters weren’t stereotypes, he thought. They were supposed to be real people, decent people at a crossroads in their lives. The character of Ken had a few lines where he “acted gay” but to camp it up at this point seemed like it was going too far. Rick hoped Michonne felt the same way because he really wanted to get the part.

Many of the hopefuls left as soon as they finished their reading, but like Rick, a number hung around. It was a good plan, he thought, in case the director wanted to hear someone over again or needed someone to read with another actor. Besides, he had nowhere else to be anyway. 

When they were finished, Maggie turned to him with a smile. “I really hope you get the part,” she said. “I think you were the best one.”

“Thanks. I hope so too,” Rick admitted. “Nice meeting you. Hope to see you around if your sister gets hers.”

“You’ll see me anyway,” she told him. “My dad is Hershel Greene, the theater manager. I like to help out on the productions.”

“Great,” Rick smiled. He’d thought Maggie was nice and it felt like they could be friends. “None of the other girls made as good a Shirley as your sister,” he added.

He and Maggie said their goodnights and then Rick noticed Shane standing next to his seat. 

“Good job, Rick,” he said magnanimously. “Even though it’s been a long time, you still have good instincts.” He put out his hand to shake Rick’s.

“Thanks,” Rick answered, appreciating the complement and the handshake. “You did a good job too. After that first little wobble.”

“Serves me right for not checking the script first,” Shane agreed. “But hey, I got no problem with playing a character like that. Long as you don’t, we could probably be pretty good in this.”

“Guess it’s up to the director,” Rick said noncommittally. He figured Shane would do a decent job but he would rather have played the part opposite someone he didn’t know personally.

“And the director’s hungry,” Michonne spoke up. “Who wants to join her for some dinner?”

“Sounds great,” Shane said effusively. The woman named Carol agreed too. 

Rick was about to, when he noticed that Daryl Dixon was still gathering up his folders and some other items. He wondered if he was going to come along. So far, he hadn’t actually had to talk to the guy but if Rick went along to get something to eat with the group, it might get awkward. Still, Shane’s reaction had already broken the awkwardness quotient for the evening, so he figured he might as well. Besides, he was hungry too and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a meal with other people.

“I’m in,” he said, wishing he didn’t sound so excited. He wasn’t a kid, it wasn’t like he’d never had any kind of a social life. He must have been hoping to develop some new friendships more than he’d even realized.

“How about the Tortuga?” Michonne asked. She’d turned to Daryl when she said it. 

He didn’t answer aloud, just gave a quick nod and a shrug. He’d slung the big backpack with all the folders and other stuff over his shoulder. It looked heavy but to Rick’s eyes, the guy barely noticed the weight. They were definitely broad shoulders, and the guy’s arms were muscled and strong looking. He suddenly appreciated the sleeveless look Dixon had chosen, his mouth sort of watering as he took him in. 

He hadn’t really paid attention to him that much when they’d crossed paths before. When somebody threw a bunch of dead squirrels at you, it made you duck first and ask questions later. Rick remembered him looking scruffy, like he’d been in the woods for days – which he probably had, considering the amount of squirrels he’d killed and the dead dear hanging upside down from the porch of a side building on the property. The elder brother had been run in on hunting violations before, after all, but this time it had been for drugs. Rick had simply told Daryl to settle down and let him take Merle in, keeping his own voice calm and trying to appear unruffled by the hostility. He was used to the way the backwoods people in the county reacted to the presence of the law and while it technically had been an assault on an officer, he had known it would only make things worse if he arrested both brothers.

Still, aside from the scruffy and aggressive appearance, he hadn’t really looked at the younger Dixon that day. Now he could see that he was well built and pretty much the same height as Rick. He wore his hair long and his face unshaven. His jeans were tattered and the leather vest had seen better days too. He was lanky and moved like he didn’t enjoy being indoors. His eyes darted here and there, not really settling on any one person or thing and he didn’t appear to look right at people, even when they spoke to him. Between the perpetual squint and the refusal to meet anyone’s gaze, Rick couldn’t even tell what color his eyes were. 

He nodded at Michonne when she asked if he’d be joining them at the restaurant, then turned to head up the aisle. Rick’s eyes widened as he noticed the appliqued wings on the back of his vest. Why were they there? Did they have some meaning? Did the vest just come that way?

Daryl Dixon was anything but angelic as far as Rick could tell. But the oddly out of place symbol intrigued him. He followed him up the aisle, noting the sure stride of his strong legs, the nice ass under the threadbare jeans and again, the shoulders that could be described as nothing less than magnificent. Okay, maybe Rick was more than intrigued. He swallowed hard, trying to keep the word ‘attracted’ from popping into his head. Daryl was unlikely to be interested in other men and would be likely to do worse than just throw dead squirrels at any guy who would indicate, even obliquely, that he thought he was hot. But he was, Rick decided. He was _hot._

When they reached the outside, everyone piled into their respective vehicles, agreeing to meet at the Tortuga restaurant on the highway leading into town, only a few minutes away. Rick remembered many a gathering there after rehearsals and performances back when he was doing theater in the past and it seemed like it was still a hang out for the community theater crowd. 

As he unlocked his Hundai Tuscon, he noticed Dixon giving him a baleful look. 

“What?” he asked, feeling defensive.

“Nothin’.” The other man was climbing onto a huge motorcycle. _Of course._ thought Rick. “Figured you for a family van.”

He’d muttered the words at so low a volume, Rick hardly picked them up, covered as they were by the growl of the motorcycle roaring to life. 

“Divorced.” Rick wasn’t sure why it was important that he inform Dixon of his marital status, but this was as good a way to get the information across as any. Besides, he’d been stereotyping Rick with the suggestion he’d own some kind of soccer mom vehicle. 

It was hard to be annoyed with him though, since he looked even better on the cycle than he did walking.

Rick had seen other men daily for his entire life. But ever since his divorce and his decision to explore his attraction to men, he hadn’t seen anyone that had made him take this kind of interest. 

If he got cast in the play, Rick realized, he’d better get over it because he really didn’t think it would be a good idea to be noticing Daryl Dixon in that way. Not a good idea at all.

Dixon turned the cycle and moved past Rick’s car, shaking his head. Rick couldn’t tell if he was laughing at him or just giving up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Daryl's POV!


	3. I Defy Anyone To Diagram That Sentence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group heads off to the restaurant for dinner and Rick and Daryl have a chance to talk. Or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maroon Camero for the beta on this chapter. We've all been super busy and I really appreciate that she fit it in for me.
> 
> I know, I said this chapter would be from Daryl's POV. But it just wasn't working, so I stuck with Rick again. Maybe we'll see through Daryl's eyes another time.

Rick waited until Daryl pulled out into the road before backing his Hundai out of its parking place and following the group down the road. He hadn’t noticed any glimmer of recognition in the man’s eyes so maybe he didn’t realize he was the deputy who had arrested his brother. If true, it would be convenient, but Rick doubted he could get through the entire run without Daryl figuring out who he was.

If he was cast, he reminded himself. Nothing was guaranteed. But oh, he wanted it. He hadn’t realized how much until this evening’s auditions. Just being able to be around a group of people again meant a lot to Rick. He would hate to not get the part and end up spending every day and evening in his apartment alone.

He had lost the house in the divorce. It had been sold and all he could afford was a small apartment. And he’d also lost his son, Carl. The boy was twelve now but though the custody was considered joint, Lori had moved to Virginia and taken Carl with her, which meant that instead of getting his son on weekends, Rick only got him for two months of the summer time and every other holiday.

With being unable to work, that meant a lonely existence for the former deputy. Rick was used to being around people, being active, having a purpose. He’d been struggling with the changes in his life. He hoped he would at least be able to have some fun with the theater group.

He got caught behind some traffic on the way. A big delivery truck had been pulling out from behind the local WalMart and broke down. Rick hadn’t been able to drive around it, so he had to sit for five minutes before his lane started moving again. Luckily, he knew the location of the restaurant well.

He pulled into the Tortuga parking lot, sliding his car into a space between Daryl’s bike and Michonne’s Jeep.

He climbed out, heading into the restaurant, peering into the rather dim interior to look for the group. They had been seated next to the large mural along the left wall that depicted Spanish sailors opening a treasure chest on a shore, with native Indians looking on at the scene. Rick remembered it had been painted by a local art teacher and was glad the restaurant hadn’t decided to redecorate and get rid of it.

As he approached, Shane stood up and waved to him, motioning him over. Rick nodded and joined the others at the table. A seat had been saved for him next to Carol, across from the one occupied by Michonne. Daryl was emerging from the men’s room and paused at the last seat next to Michonne on the other side of the table from Rick.

He looked awkward and out of place in the restaurant, Rick noticed, though it wasn’t all that fancy an establishment.

As he paused, Michonne glanced up at him. “Oh,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “How about we trade, Daryl?” Without waiting for an answer, she got up and took the empty seat, leaving the one on the end for him.

He gave one of those short nods that Rick was already realizing was his go to way of communicating, and pulled out the chair, dropping into it heavily. His big, muscular body looked awkward on the hard wooden chair and Rick noted that he stretched his legs out into the aisle. His broad shoulders needed the extra room too.

Everyone else was checking their menus and Rick opened his own, aware that Daryl didn’t seem to bother. That might mean he already knew what he wanted. Then, as if noticing that the rest of the group was looking over their options, Daryl finally picked his own menu up and opened it.

Rick tried to concentrate on the printed words but he found himself distracted by the man now sitting closer to him than he’d been earlier in the evening. He thought of how he had looked out in the woods at the family cabin when Rick had come for Merle, his hands dirty and his hair uncombed, with a string of dead squirrels over his shoulder, ready to be skinned and dressed, or tossed at an offending lawman. Rick pictured him drinking moonshine, cleaning his weapons, gutting a deer and glaring at anyone who tried to pull him kicking and screaming into the twenty first century.

This was a man who looked as out of place in a city restaurant as he did in a theater auditorium. As Rick watched through his eyelashes, he gave an insolent glance at the menu, then folded it and let it drop back on the table.

Rick noticed the waitress headed their way, so he quickly scanned the entrees and chose what he’d enjoyed at the Tortuga all those years ago when he used to come here after a show or with his family.

He heard Shane and then Michonne ordering beer when the waitress asked for their drink orders. Rick thought about how long it had been since he’d had one but still decided not to partake. If he hadn’t been driving, maybe he would have taken a chance. But since the shooting and the heart troubles it had left him with, his doctors had suggested he should rarely drink, if at all.

When the waitress got to Daryl, he didn’t even look up at her as he ordered.

“What’ll it be for you, sir?” she asked brightly, not appearing bothered by his less than friendly demeanor.

“Mazurt,” he muttered.

Rick was impressed. Mazurt was a local brew, made by a two-man operation that had gotten great reviews in the past few years. It was popular around town so it wasn’t obscure but he’d expected Daryl to request something a bit more ordinary.

“And you?” the young lady asked Rick after jotting down Daryl’s order.

“I’ll have a Coke, thanks.”

He didn’t look toward Daryl when he heard the derisive snort in response to his ordering a soft drink.

The waitress moved on.

“Somethin’ wrong with beer?”

Rick was surprised at the gruff question being directed toward him.

“No. Used to love Mazurt,” he said, keeping his voice easy. “Just don’t really drink these days.”

“What’s that?” Shane spoke up loudly after giving his drink order. “As I recall, you used to be able to drink me under the table. Since when did you go on the wagon?”

Rick had hoped not to call too much attention to his choice. “That’s an exaggeration, Shane,” he said, pasting on a grin. Then, noticing that most of the group was looking in his direction, he figured he might as well tell them. “Wasn’t my idea. The guy that shot me sorta pushed me in that direction.”

“You were shot?” That was Carol, who looked at him in concern.

“Rick’s a deputy sheriff,” Shane was explaining. “Didn’t know you got shot though.”

“Yeah, it was six months ago,” he revealed. “I… uh… I’m not workin’ anymore. That’s why I have time to come try out for plays again.” His eyes went to Michonne, feeling sheepish and hopeful at the same time.

“The sheriff office’s loss is our gain then,” Michonne said, smiling at him, her eyes conveying understanding without pity.

“We’ll see about that,” Rick responded, trying to be good-natured about it. He wasn’t looking for sympathy and he didn’t want to seem weak. The few people he’d shared his story with had either acted like he might drop over dead in the next five minutes or, like Lori had, pulled away as if his injuries made him an unattractive waste of space.

“What’s good here?” Carol asked, breaking the tension and successfully diverting the group from Rick.

He took a deep breath and told himself that each time he had to talk about his injury it got a little less difficult. At least there hadn’t been the intrusive questions that some people felt compelled to ask.

“Didn’t mean nothin’.”

The gruff voice was barely audible. Rick looked up at Daryl. Just as he did so, the other man glanced away, as if meeting his eyes was the last thing he intended to do.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rick answered, surprised at the clumsy apology. He hadn’t expected that from this man.

“You were a sheriff?” The eyes, mostly hidden by the dark blond hair hanging in his face, skipped toward him and then darted away.

“Yeah, for fourteen years,” he found himself saying.

“Thought you looked familiar.”

So much for the younger Dixon brother not remembering him. Rick braced himself, not knowing if Daryl was going to throw a punch across the table. “Yeah. We… uh… have met. Sort of.” He shifted, leaning across the table so he could lower his voice. “I was just doin’ my job.”

Daryl lifted one shoulder, the movement seeming to contain entire sentences if only Rick could decipher them. “No hard feelings,” he mumbled, running his fingers along the edge of the table.

Rick was amazed. “Thanks. That’s… that’s nice of you.” For some reason, the word ‘nice’ didn’t seem to go with the image of Daryl Dixon but it was out before he could stop himself.

Daryl made that sound again, a snort of contempt. But he didn’t look angry when he glanced up at Rick, this time for all of two seconds. “Water under the bridge. Merle usually deserved gettin’ picked up.”

Rick thought it might not be that wise to agree with Dixon, so he just nodded, figuring that if shrugs and grunts served as conversation from the other man, he didn’t really have to say a lot himself.

Even though he’d already decided what he was going to order, Rick opened his menu again, just to have something to do.

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” He glanced over to see Carol looking at him with gentle eyes. “You must have seen a lot of violence in your work.”

“Not all that much,” Rick answered. “We’ve never had it as rough as they do up in Atlanta. That’s why I liked working here. The guy that shot me was on the run from a robbery in the city though. Looking at going to prison for life since he’d been in jail twice already, so he didn’t take too kindly to us trying to capture him. Came out of his car with guns blazing, him and both his partners.”

“Oh my goodness!” She put her hand to her mouth, looking distressed. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t remember much,” Rick admitted. “Next thing I knew it was a month later and I was lookin’ at physical therapy and lots of leisure time on my hands.” He forced a grin, as if the whole thing didn’t bother him.

Carol was a slight woman who looked shy and motherly, Rick noticed, as she patted his arm. “I’m glad you made it.”

Her sincerity really did warm Rick’s heart. “Thanks.”

Rick returned his gaze to his menu, aware that Daryl had listened to words he’d exchanged with Carol. That made him feel a little weird. He’d figured that the man knew him as some cop who’d arrested his brother, even if now he said Merle had deserved being arrested, but he didn’t like the idea of this backwoods tough guy now thinking he was fragile as glass.

“I feel pretty good most of the time,” Rick told Carol, knowing that his words would carry. “I’ve been thinking about what to do as a new career.” That wasn’t strictly true. At the moment, he was on full disability, but the doctors had said that if he continued to improve and there were no complications, he might be able to get a job, maybe six months down the road. Rick hoped so. The idea of having to sit around for the rest of his life was too depressing.

When the waitress returned with their drinks, she took their dinner orders. Rick chose his usual from the many times he’d eaten here, the deep fried scallops. He remembered Carl used to get them too when they had come here as a family, but he pushed aside the loneliness the memory caused him, determined to just enjoy the evening.

Across from him, Daryl ordered a steak, and when the waitress asked how he wanted it cooked, he gave her a baleful look and simply said, “bleedin’.” Rick managed not to chuckle at his gruff response, then he noticed that Daryl seemed confused when she asked him about what sides he wanted. Looking as if he wasn’t used to ordering restaurant food, he hesitated, chewing at his bottom lip in consternation.

“I got the baked potato and coleslaw,” Rick said, as if just sharing information.

Daryl glanced up, then his gaze darted away again, in his diffident way that Rick was quickly getting used to, and told the waitress he’d have the same. When she moved on down to get Michonne’s order, he shifted uncomfortably.

“’M goin’ out for a smoke,” he muttered, quickly getting up and heading toward the door.

Rick noted that Carol was watching him go.

“You know him well?” he asked her.

“We’re friends. It was his idea I come to the auditions. He’s always trying to get me to go out more.”

“Oh?” Rick’s response was non-committal but he hoped she would continue.

“We met at the state prison,” Carol then offered. “He was visiting his brother. I was there to see my husband.” She ran her fingers along her placemat. “I shouldn’t have been there, but at the time I was still trying to be the dutiful wife.” At Rick’s questioning look, she continued. “Ed was there for hitting me. He’d put me in the hospital and I finally pressed charges, but a part of me still hoped he would change.” She turned and met Rick’s eyes. “Ed got killed in prison. Daryl told me it was for the best. He’s been a good friend to me ever since.”

Rick digested that. “I never talked to him before tonight. Seems like a… different… kinda guy.” Taking a battered wife under his wing seemed out of character. “I’d say sorry for your loss,” Rick began, lifting his hand in a vague gesture, “but I’m glad you’re out of that situation now.” Returning to the subject of Daryl, he continued, “So you got to know him – ”

“Yeah. He started doing some work around my house and even baby sits my daughter sometimes.” Carol smiled. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s got a good heart.”

“You two talking about Daryl?” Michoone looked over at them. “I don’t think he’s partial to that. He might be out front smoking but he has the ears of an elephant.”

“That guy is _weird_ lookin’,” Shane spoke up then, laughing. “Where did you find him, Michonne?”

“Don’t say that to his face, or he’ll rearrange yours,” she told him pointedly. “He is a genius at construction. Fixed my house up better than it was when I bought it. He’s going to build us sets for this show that will rival the ones they had on Broadway.”

“Is that so?” Shane turned to Rick. “Doesn’t look like he can spell Broadway, much less re-create it,” he snorted. “Right, Rick?”

Instead of answering, Rick just took a drink of his Coke. He was used to Shane’s tendency to talk about people, judging them against his own yardstick of education and class, which to Rick’s mind only served to show Shane’s lack of the latter.

“He ever work in theater before?” Shane asked Michonne.

“Yes. He helped with my last show too. This time, he’s not just building sets, he’s my assistant too.”

“Well, looks like everybody’s into theater these days,” Shane said, just shaking his head.

The conversation moved to other subjects for a few minutes, and Daryl returned just in time for the food that was being served. He looked a bit calmer than he had when he’d left, Rick noted. He yanked his chair out from the table and once again dropped into it, attacking his rare steak with gusto, cutting off big pieces and shoveling them into his mouth, chewing hungrily.

Rick put the first bite of fried scallop into this mouth, closed his eyes and savored the familiar taste. When Carl came for his summer visit, he was going to have to bring him here.

“What made you pick this show?” Shane was asking Michonne as he attacked his plate of fried chicken.

“It was the board’s choice,” Michonne explained, "but I have always loved it and wanted to direct. It won a lot of awards when it was on Broadway in the early '80s.”

“That so. Guess I’ll read it tonight.” Shane wiped his mouth, then took a swallow of his beer.

“Good idea,” Michonne said. “It’s an amazing script. Funny and tragic at the same time. Characters from different generations and backgrounds. The Viet Nam war is over, but the main characters are still feeling its effects.”

“They protested, didn’t they?” Carol asked. “I was thinking that’s not something kids hear about much these days.”

“But they do express their opinions about the government and the troops going into other countries.”

Rick nodded at Michonne's words; she did have a point. When he’d read the script, he’d thought it still held up for contemporary audiences.

“Also, the gay couple – this was the one of the first shows where the whole family was accepting of something like that.” Michonne buttered a roll and looked around the table. “It’s not that ground-breaking today but then, this isn’t New York, is it?”

“Kings County isn’t a bastion of progressiveness,” Rick agreed.

“Surely there won’t be any problems,” Carol said, looking concerned.

“Hershel said the board was unanimous,” Michonne replied. “They wanted it and he says he hopes the public won’t cause any problems.”

“Huh,” Shane said. “Maybe they won’t realize right away. I thought it was something about that songwriter, George M. Cohan.”

“He was born on the _fourth_ of July,” Michonne laughed. “You really should read a play before you audition, Shane.”

“Guess so,” he said good-naturedly. He glanced around the table. “Hey, I got no problem playin’ a gay dude.” He rubbed a hand over his head. “Acting!” he declared, sounding like Jon Lovitz from Saturday Night Live.

“If you get the part,” Rick said warningly.

“Won’t be so bad if you get Ken,” Shane said, eyeing him. “Guess if I have to kiss a guy, at least you aren’t ugly or anything.”

“Thanks,” Rick chuckled. “I guess.”

Carol and Michonne laughed at the exchange, but Rick noted that Daryl not only hadn’t added anything to the conversation, he looked just as surly as he had been all along. He didn’t even look at Shane as much as he did the others and Rick was sure he was forcing himself not to roll his eyes at the way Shane talked.

He ate his food, nodded or grunted in response to direct comments made to him by Michonne or Carol, taking the time to actually meet their eyes, his face softening into a more gentle manner when he addressed them. He only side-eyed Shane, as if looking at him directly would have been a waste of his time. At first Rick thought he was doing the same to him.

But as they continued eating, he noticed that Daryl was actually looking at him from time to time. It took Rick awhile to catch on. Daryl was stealthy, and his silence and withdrawn nature ensured most of the group didn’t really pay that close attention to him during the meal. But when Rick reached for the salt, he felt those eyes on him. When he leaned toward Carol to respond to something she’d said, they were there again, appraising him, wary and defensive in case Rick said something he didn’t approve of to his friend. And when Shane made some comments that were intended to be funny but were mean spirited toward a handicapped woman who was seated nearby, Daryl not only glared in Shane’s direction, he also seemed to check Rick’s response to the remarks. When Rick told Shane to knock it off, he could have sworn that Daryl seemed to approve, but when he turned to meet the man’s gaze, it skittered away from him again, dropping down to the baked potato on his plate.

Once, as they were ordering dessert, Rick felt a jolt against his ankle. When he looked up from the menu, he found Daryl looking abashed and realized he’d accidentally kicked him. He didn’t say anything, just moved his legs back out of the way of Daryl’s heavy boots.

Everybody got the house cheesecake, except Daryl who declined dessert and just asked for a third beer. The talk turned to other shows and funny happenings behind the scenes, dropped lines, missed cues and brilliant saves. Rick felt really good being with theater people again, having a few laughs and enjoying a meal out with company. He enjoyed Michonne and Carol seemed really nice, too. Shane hadn’t changed, still thought of himself as the best actor in the county and the greatest lover too. Only Daryl remained an enigma, not having much to say, just a presence in the periphery of Rick’s vision, one that, despite his silence, couldn’t be ignored.

At least the guy didn’t seem to hold a grudge toward Rick for arresting his brother.

It was nearly eleven when they split the check and got up to leave. “Remember,” Michonne said, with a laugh in her voice, “this social occasion doesn’t mean any of you are going to get cast. I don’t play favorites.” She looked around the group, her face stern but her eyes playful. “We’ve got more people coming in tomorrow night.”

“Okay, Michonne, we won’t count our chickens,” Rick told her. “I just enjoyed hanging out tonight.”

And as he headed toward his car, walking behind Daryl again, once more checking out the man’s well fitting jeans, he smiled to himself. He really had had a good time. But deep down, he hoped he would get the part.


	4. What Do You Mean, Changing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The play is cast! Rick talks to Daryl!

Rick woke up slowly, feeling older than his years. He had had physical therapy yesterday and for some reason, he must have overdone it. He felt tired, almost like he had when he first got out of the hospital. It was weird, actually. He’d been feeling fine most of the time. Maybe it was just going to be one of those days.

He got up and fixed some coffee and put a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. While that was working, he went to the bathroom and took care of things there, then re-entered his bedroom to pull a pair of jeans on over the boxers he’d been sleeping in and slid the same button down shirt on that he’d worn yesterday.

He felt a little down too not just physically. It had been three days since the dinner at the Tortuga with the group from the theater. He’d had a good time but it just seemed to make him feel more alone afterwards. He hadn’t heard from Michonne about whether he got the role and by today he was beginning to think he wasn’t going to.

They had told him that he was likely to feel some depression following the shooting, coma and heart complications. But he’d been doing all right. Or so he’d thought. Right up until his wife decided to divorce him and take his kid to another state. Right up through having to sell his house and move, and figuring out how to occupy himself every day. The anticipation of auditioning had really buoyed him for the last week. Now, it just felt like a let down.

Rick hated feeling that way. He had always been a pretty positive guy and depression wasn’t something he had had to cope with before. At the dinner, he’d said he might be able to go to work again in a few months, but his doctor and therapist hadn’t been that enthusiastic about the prospect. It wasn’t that he wanted to go back on the street as a deputy. He just wanted to do something. To feel productive.

And to have someone to talk to.

Funny, Lori used to complain that he didn’t talk enough. Now, he’d give anything to have someone to nag him or badger him to express his feelings. The silence in the house was almost unbearable.

His mind skipped to thoughts of Daryl Dixon and how quiet that man was with the group at the restaurant. Rick had been intrigued by him, wary at first when Daryl had recognized him, but when he didn’t seem to hold a grudge, Rick had watched him covertly the rest of the evening, trying to figure him out. Reticent, even socially awkward, yet kind toward those in need, the man was obviously much more than the typical back woods hunter that Rick had first taken him for. Even though he had worked on Michonne’s house, it seemed a stretch that she had persuaded him to help her with the shows she was directing. Rick wondered what might be missing in the guy’s life that he had agreed.

He also idly wished that he lived in his own house still, so that if something broke, he could call Daryl and ask him to come over and work on it for him. It didn’t seem likely that he would need any construction repairs in the apartment. 

He thought wryly that putting in such a call would just be ludicrous anyway. The guy obviously wasn’t looking to drum up customers and he wasn’t out to engage in friendly conversation – no matter how lonely Rick was or how much he might want to just have the well built guy around to stare at.

 _Yeah, right. I’m gonna try flirting with Daryl Dixon_ , he told himself ruefully. _Like that would work._ The guy would probably just glare at him and give him the finger, then go back to ignoring Rick’s existence.

Rick wandered back to the kitchen and pour his coffee into the mug Carl had once given him for Father’s Day. “World’s Greatest Dad” mugs weren’t all that original, but now Rick treasured it, the way he even treasured the lopsided ashtray Carl had made him at camp last year. He didn’t smoke but Rick kept it proudly on his coffee table anyway. 

He was buttering his toast when his phone rang.

Rick jumped, startled by the sudden noise in the quiet apartment. He yanked the phone out of his pocket and pressed the button.

“Hello, Rick here.”

“Hi, Rick,” came a woman’s voice. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m okay…” There had been no name on the caller ID.

“It’s Michonne,” she identified herself. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to cast you as Ken in Fifth of July. If you’re still interested.”

Rick’s mood immediately brightened. He struggled to sound nonchalant.

“Yeah. I’m still interested. Nobody else tried out?” 

Michonne laughed. “There were others,” she responded. “But I think you were the best that came in.”

Rick’s face heated up at the comment. He figured there was really no reason to pretend he hadn’t been hoping he would be cast after all.

“Michonne, thank you,” he said, voice earnest. “I am really glad you called. This… this means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad you came out. I hope you’ll enjoy working on the show with me and with the rest of the cast.” Michonne paused, then went on. “If you can come down to the theater tonight, I’ll have rehearsal schedules ready. We go up a month from this coming weekend.”

“I’ll be there,” Rick said. “What time should I get to the theater tonight?”

“Seven is good. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you then.”

After a few more pleasant words were exchanged, they ended the call.

Rick took a sip of his coffee, not caring that it had cooled down a lot during the call. He didn’t care that his toast was cold too. He got the part! 

It would be good to have other things to think about besides his own health and situation. He’d have plenty of time to concentrate on the character of Ken and it would be great to have people to socialize with.

And, he realized as he headed back toward his bathroom to grab a shower, he would also get to see more of Daryl Dixon. That wasn’t going to hurt at all.

 

Rick got to the theater at six-thirty. He knew he was early but he didn’t care. He had nothing else to do and he was anxious to get started. Seeing a few other cars in the lot, along with the motorcycle Dixon drove, he figured it was okay and he headed inside.

The sluggishness he had felt upon getting up this morning had mostly faded and Rick chalked it up to being worried about not having heard from Michonne. Once he got her call, his fatigue and down mood had both disappeared. 

He locked his vehicle and bounded up the steps to the front door of the theater. When he pushed through the double doors of the auditorium, he was surprised to see nobody there.

There was a pile of scripts and other papers at the edge of the stage, so he figured someone was around, or had been recently, so he just walked down the aisle to check them out.

That’s when he saw him.

Daryl had been backstage. Now he was sauntering out across the stage, moving with lithe grace, his long hair floating a bit due to his pace, and Rick thought the guy probably never moved in something so slow as to be called a stroll. He always looked like he had somewhere to be and just wanted to get there in the most efficient way and time.

He was going sleeveless again, Rick noted, unable to take his eyes off the man’s biceps as they seemed to gleam under the stage lights. Did he work out? Spend hours pumping iron? Or was he just naturally built that way? Maybe it was from lugging heavy construction equipment around.

A picture of him carrying a load of lumber, all sweaty and burnished popped into Rick’s mind. His stride was measured but still swift, legs strong under the cargo pants he wore, implying thighs as muscular as his arms…

Rick shook his head. He wasn’t used to having thoughts like that in his head. Sure, he had come to understand he liked men but he wasn’t used to nearly salivating just from noting a guy had good arms.

Just as he was trying to get his brain under control, Daryl glanced up and noticed Rick standing there.

He gave one of his curt nods, dispelling the image that had been shimmering in Rick’s imagination. He wasn’t a swaggering model playing the part of a construction guy in some calendar. He wasn’t displaying himself for anyone. Showing off never entered his mind. He was just down to earth Daryl Dixon, so much more unassuming that the over-confident men in the pages of magazines or on television. Yet his natural attractiveness lingered. Rick suddenly had the impression that the man had no vanity whatsoever. 

Which meant, as he’d told himself before, that indicating he thought Daryl looked good – even without putting flirting into it – would just be ridiculous. Besides, what guy said “hey, your arms are great” to another guy if he wasn’t flirting with him?

Rick nodded back, adding a rather strained “hey” to his greeting and wandered down the aisle to the stage, trying as hard as he could to not look as though he’d been checking Daryl out.

Daryl dropped down into a seated position at the edge of the stage, ending up cross-legged next to his piles of papers and scripts. Rick leaned against the stage, trying to look relaxed.

“You’re here early,” Daryl observed, his voice the same gruff growl as the other night. He didn’t look at Rick when he spoke, not that he had expected the man to.

He was looking downward, the long hair falling over his face and obscuring his eyes. Rick realized that he didn’t know what color they were. It had been dark at the restaurant and with the way Daryl kept darting his gaze away, he hadn’t been able to see them well enough.

His hair was a dark blond shade, of the type that Rick thought must have been very pale when he was a kid. Unbidden, a picture of Daryl as a cute little boy came to him, mischief and contrariness in every line of his features. But that hair had darkened over the years and grown long, was worn in an indeterminant style, probably cut by Daryl himself. Rick imagined him grabbing scissors when he just couldn’t stand it any more and chopping away without regard to getting it even. His pants were brown, as were his boots. The frayed sleeveless shirt had once been plaid, perhaps, but it had been washed so many times it was hard to tell, but it was generally in the brown family too. The vest that he’d been wearing the last time Rick had seen him, was black leather. So he dressed in browns and blacks and his hair was heading to the dark end of the spectrum too. That might mean that those squinty eyes Rick couldn’t quite see were probably brown.

He imagined them a deep chocolate brown though, gleaming with sex appeal.

 _Good god, I must be having hallucinations or something._ Never in all his life had his mind provided images and thoughts like this to him. It was a bit unsettling.

Still, he reminded himself, he had looked at women that way and it hadn’t sent him thinking about the need for mental health counseling. This was the same, _exactly_ the same. Just the gender of the person was different.

He was here, after all, to play a gay man as he cautiously began to explore the non-straight side of himself. What he hadn’t expected was that just seeing a guy who previously he hadn’t given a second thought about or had done more than notice before would _affect_ him so much.

“What?” Daryl’s voice cut through Rick’s internal monologue.

“Hmm?” Rick looked up, feeling like he’d been caught staring, but he had been deliberately looking anywhere but at the other man. 

“You seem…” Daryl’s voice trailed off. He turned one of his near-glances on Rick but just briefly, then focused his attention on the pile of papers in front of him. At Rick’s look, he shrugged, then shook his head. “Nothin’.” 

Rick tried not to exhale too hard in relief when Daryl dropped the subject. He would have to remember that the man was damned observant.

“Yeah, guess I am a bit early,” Rick said, trying to sound as if that’s what Daryl had been asking about. “Didn’t have anything else to do.” _Great, that sounded totally pathetic._ “I mean…” He trailed off, knowing he could only make it worse if he elaborated.

Luckily, Daryl didn’t seem inclined to pursue the matter. “I’m here a lot of the time,” Daryl offered. “plannin’ the set.”

Rick nodded. “I looked online at the Broadway sets for this show. Michonne has given us high expectations for what you’re going to build.” 

Daryl just scoffed at that. 

Rick glanced up to see some color rise in the man’s cheeks. He couldn’t help pressing. “I guess you’re good at the construction stuff.”

One broad shoulder rose and dropped quickly.

“Anybody help with that around here? I mean, theater staff or volunteers?”

“Depends.”

“Yeah, guess it would.” Rick knew that most community theaters depended on volunteers to get things done and everybody wore more than one hat. Directors did many chores besides just directing. Stage managers built sets, were in charge of props, helped with stuff the director needed. He cleared his throat, then took a deep breath. “I’m… I’m home during the day. Not that I’m great with tools or anything, but I would be happy to show up and lend a hand with the work.” For some reason, he felt incredibly awkward making the offer. Sure, he had the time and enjoyed the behind the scenes stuff of theater almost as much as being on stage, but it was his growing attraction to Daryl that made him feel nervous. 

During rehearsals, Daryl would just be in the background, but if Rick was here helping him with the sets, he would be in the man’s space, working with and sort of hanging out with him. 

Which could be a good thing. He could get more familiar and maybe the embarrassing ideas he was having about him would stop. Or they could get worse.

Did anyone really “hang out” with Daryl Dixon? Would he be pushy to a helper, annoyed with Rick’s lack of expertise? Rick pictured the taciturn man having little to say one way or the other, just nodding and grunting so much he would be unable to tell if his contributions were okay or not. 

He mentally shook himself – help was help in a situation like this. And Rick wasn’t a total screw up. He wasn’t some master craftsman but he could hammer in a nail if he had to and he had enough self-esteem that however Daryl acted wouldn’t really bother him. 

Unless those actions concerned Daryl realizing Rick thought he was hot and that caused other issues.

It was too late for second thoughts. Daryl glanced up towards him, his eyes mostly obscured by the hair hanging over his face. “Sure. Okay,” he muttered, seeming neither impressed or bothered by the offer. 

Rick figured that at least he would have something more to do, something to get him out of the house so he wasn’t just sitting around feeling bad. 

“Just let me know when you need me.” He nodded back, but by this time, Daryl was already looking away, shuffling through the pile of papers on the stage floor in front of him. 

Rick smothered a smile. It was actually sort of funny the way the guy barely communicated. Thinking about it, along with his other memorable encounter with the man on his home turf when Rick had arrested his brother, maybe it was just because he had grown up in a cabin in the woods and never really had associated with other people who were from the city – not that their small town was in any way a city, but it was certainly more populated than the woods where the Dixons hunted and lived. Daryl had gone to school but other than that, who was there for him to acquire social graces from? Certainly not the older brother who he could have learned about drug running and getting into fights. Rick wondered what his father had done to make a living, if he had actually worked at a job or simply made ends meet in the same shady ways Merle had. Rick couldn’t imagine that the parents had been likely to enroll their younger boy in little league or even scouts. It was likely that Daryl had grown up pretty much alone and unguided. Somewhere, he had acquired his skills in construction though. And here he was, hanging around the theater, having made some friends who obviously appreciated him for his skills and liked him well enough despite his rough edges. 

It wasn’t long before others started drifting in. Michonne was the first to arrive. She looked harried, Rick noticed, as though something were bothering her. Instead of her usual easy smile she just said hello in a tone that sounded stressed out. As soon as she parked her back pack in the middle seat section she pulled out her phone, grimacing when she saw a text.

She typed something back and then slumped down in her seat.

Rick approached her, concerned. “Anything wrong?”

Michonne looked up, the storm clouds in her eyes almost enough to send him retreating in the other direction. At his reaction, she seemed to try to soften her scowl. “Same old, same old,” she said, putting her phone away. “My son’s father. He wants to change his weekend plans to get Andre. How do you explain to a three year old that Daddy is just too busy to take him to the zoo?”

Rick understood completely. He would drop everything to spend a weekend with Carl. He dropped into the seat beside Michonne. “You divorced too?”

“Never married,” she said. “Thought that would make it easier but it’s just as much of a mess when you have a kid together.”

“My boy’s twelve,” Rick said. “I haven’t gotten to see him in… two months.”

“What?” Michonne looked surprised. 

“My ex moved out of state,” he explained. “So instead of getting to have him regularly, it’s every other holiday and a chunk of time in the summer. It sucks.”

“At least you’re the kind of father who wants to see his child,” Michonne nodded, patting his arm in understanding. “For Mike, Andre is an afterthought. He puts his own social life – which mostly consists of watching every televised sporting event -- ahead of everything. But then, that’s how he was when we were together too.” She chuckled, pushing her dreads back. “I wonder sometimes what I was thinking.” 

Rick smiled. “I hear ya.”

Their conversation was dropped at the arrival of more of the cast. Rick was happy to see young Beth Greene had been chosen to play the teenager, Shirley. She shyly greeted Michonne and smiled up at Daryl with what could only be described as pure adoration. Rick hid a grin at Dixon’s reaction: Daryl gruffly shoved a script and the printed schedule at the girl and seemed to cringe away from her worshipping gaze. Rick could only imagine that a teenage girl looking at him that way was the last thing he wanted or knew how to deal with. 

The auditorium door burst open and Rick knew without looking that Shane had arrived. So he had been cast as Jed. On the one hand, Shane was a known commodity to Rick. On the other, he knew that kissing him wasn’t going to reveal anything to Rick about his feelings about men or give him any clues about what kissing a man for real might be like. But he was a decent actor and that’s what he really should be thinking about. The play was more important than Rick’s inner turmoil. At least that’s what he told himself.

Coming down the aisle, he high-fived Rick and leaned over the seats to hug Michonne. “Baby, I want to thank you for casting me. I promise not to be a total dick about the gay thing.”

Michonne pulled out of Shane’s arms and the smile she pasted on look just a bit forced to Rick. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Shane. You gave the best reading, that’s why I cast you.”

As Rick watched, Shane sauntered down to the edge of the stage and took a schedule from Daryl. He didn’t seem to say anything in greeting to the other man but Rick doubted it bothered Daryl much. He was probably glad he didn’t have to exchange words with him.

Several women entered next. Rick was glad to see that Carol had been chosen for the role of Aunt Sally. He didn’t know the other two who were with her though. One was a very attractive blonde with a good figure, the kind of woman who, in another life, he would have been attracted to. Shane certainly took notice of her immediately, going to Daryl for a script and schedule for her and smiling widely as he handed them to her, losing no time in pouring on his charm. 

She introduced herself as Andrea Harrison and would be playing the role of Gwen, the old friend of Ken and June who owned a copper mine. Rick thought she might be able to pull off the complicated part. Gwen was supposed to be sexy and Andrea certainly had the look, but she was also ditzy and enjoyed the drugs that were passed around casually in the show. One scene Rick had laughed at when reading the script was when Gwen had heard Shirley say she had been to Lebanon and instead of realizing she meant Lebanon, Missouri – a city not far from the location of the play – she meant the country of Lebanon which even back then was war torn and hardly a tourist spot. While the rest of the characters tried to tell Gwen of her mistake, she went on and on about a trip she’d taken to Egypt to see the Sphinx, apparently because it was in the same region as Lebanon. Yet although Gwen was a kook, she was also one of the characters with good old-fashioned common sense who at the climax of the show, told Ken in no uncertain terms what he’d been doing that was so wrong. 

The other woman wore glasses and a loose fitting tunic shirt over capri pants and introduced herself as Denise Cloyd. She seemed shy but unlike Daryl she was given to smiling and shaking hands when introduced to people. She would be playing June in the show, Ken’s sister who had a contentious relationship with John due to their past and was mother to young Shirley. 

The short dark haired girl who had come in with Denise was introducing herself as Tara, Denise’s partner. “I just wanted a chance to meet everybody,” she said, smiling warmly. “Don’t worry, I won’t be coming to the rehearsals.” She paused, glancing hopefully at Michonne. “Unless you don’t mind. I’d be glad to help out with stuff around here for the show if you need anything.”

Michonne smiled back at her. “I’m sure there will be things to do. As for attending rehearsals, we usually have a closed policy but if nobody minds, I’ll see what we can do.”

“That’s okay,” Tara beamed, as if she’d been granted permission to always be there. She looked to Rick like a genuinely happy person who automatically liked everyone. It made an interesting contrast to her quieter girl friend.

The next person to enter the auditorium was a young Asian guy named Glenn Rhee who announced he had accepted the role of Wes, the stoner musician who had accompanied Gwen and her husband on their visit to the Talley home for the fourth of July weekend. Rick thought he seemed young and laid back enough to carry off the role. Following shortly was the final member of the cast, so Rick knew without being told that he would have the role of John, who was both Gwen’s husband and childhood friend of Ken, and the main antagonist in the show. The reasons for the animosity between him and Ken didn’t come out until one of the last scenes in the show but throughout the play John was shown getting on the nerves of Jed, because of his slick attitude and June, who harbored a grudge against him for their past relationship. 

It was another complicated role – he could be played like a typical eighties lounge lizard with his gold chain necklaces, shirts more appropriate for a California locale than the family farm in Missouri and the casual way he manipulated his wife, but he also had an underlying bisexuality that had included a relationship with Ken when they were teenagers and a continuing flirtation with him that he didn’t bother to hide from Ken’s lover, Jed. Studying the man Michonne had cast in the part, who seemed to be looking over the rest of the cast with a barely concealed judgmental attitude, Rick felt he could probably pull off the outwardly friendly yet innately creepy character. 

He introduced himself as Philip Blake. Rick thought he recalled the name from the local community theater scene and when Shane went over to greet him, it was obvious the two had worked together before. Rick tried not to openly roll his eyes at the possibility of two “great actors” vying for attention and applause in one show.

Still, he loved theater and theater people and was used to the people with the big egos as well as the self-effacing types. As long as someone worked hard on the show, they were okay by Rick.

Once everyone was there, Michonne got up and stood near the stage. “I’m really glad everyone could be here tonight so we can meet and be ready to get started working on this show. I hope you’ve all read the script a couple of times by now and are starting to put your characters together. I’ll be having some individual meetings with each of you so we can discuss your roles and how you see the people you’re going to be playing.” Rick noticed that most of the group nodded as she spoke.

“This play has been a favorite of mine for years,” Michonne went on. “Though it’s set in the late seventies, I think it resonates today with people who aren’t happy that our country is still engaging in a war that is questionable. And it will resonate with the gay community as a show where the entire family accepts the couple. This play incorporates two gay men and the plot has absolutely nothing to do with their questioning their sexuality or their relationship – it’s about Ken’s making a firm decision to move on with his life after being injured in the war and Jed steadfastly supporting him as he navigates through his issues.” She paused, then her face brightened. “This show is funny, tragic, hopeful, negative and positive all at the same time. I hope we can bring out all the nuances in the script and have our audiences both laughing and crying – and recommending our show to their friends.”

A few people clapped at that comment. Others nodded and voiced their agreement. Rick was hoping for that too; one of the things he most enjoyed about acting was getting the audience to feel what the character was going through. He felt a big responsibility to handle the part of Ken and wanted to imbue the character with all the weaknesses and strengths and humanity he could.

“You’ve all got your schedules,” Michonne concluded. “Let me know as soon as you can if you have any conflicts. We’ll be meeting tomorrow night at seven for a table read. I have all your phone numbers and emails and I’ll be handing out a list for everyone tomorrow night. You can opt out of that list if you want to, so let me know before you leave. So, unless anyone has questions, that’s it for tonight and I’ll see you all back here in twenty-four hours.”

General conversation broke out, and the group seemed about to break up for the evening. Nobody had mentioned going out to dinner and Rick felt a bit of disappointment. 

“Does anybody want to go out for some food?” he asked, standing and moving through the small crowd. 

He didn’t seem to get any takers. Denise and Tara had plans, Philip just gave him a look and shook his head, Carol said she had to go pick her daughter up, Beth was being picked up by her father and even Michonne declined, stating she needed to call her son’s father again and that the negotiation probably would take the rest of the evening.

Finally, Rick made his way back to the stage where Daryl was still sitting where the pile of scripts and schedules had been. 

“How about you? Want to go grab some dinner?” Daryl gave him a brief look, his face revealing nothing. Instead he occupied himself with picking at the strap of his backpack. 

“Come on,” Rick urged, trying to sound friendly and non-threatening, having no idea how to get the recalcitrant man to agree to his invitation, or for that matter, why he was insisting so much. He tried to convince himself it was just that he didn’t want to go home to yet another microwave meal, but he knew it was more because he was just interested in Daryl. Sure, it was partly his recently recognized attraction but he was fascinated by the guy himself. The shyness that concealed a history of aggression, the reticence that belied his involvement in the community theater – Rick was sure there was a lot more hidden by that long, unkempt hair and closed off expression. “We don’t have to go to the Tortuga again,” Rick continued. “There’s a bar that serves food around the corner.” Daryl didn’t respond. “I’ll pay,” Rick finally offered, hoping maybe the prospect of a free meal would work.

Daryl scoffed derisively. “I c’n pay my own way.” He didn’t actually agree to go, but as he picked up his pack, slung it over his shoulder and jumped gracefully down from the stage to stand directly in front of a surprised Rick, he supposed that was as close to a “yes” as he was going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to MaroonCamero for the timely beta.
> 
> And now I'm nervous about what will happen when Rick and Daryl go to dinner in the next chapter!!


	5. It’s All In The Myths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl get to know each other a little better -- at least as much as possible for reticent Daryl and nervous Rick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter being two days late. I knew it was going to be tricky writing it and even though I was working on it, it just came hard for me. Finally I started making progress and got a few ideas to keep them talking and then had to do a bit of online research to finish it off. I hope you enjoy it. I will do my best to get the next chapter out as usual next Tuesday.
> 
> Thanks to MaroonCamaro for the beta and support and to MermaidSheenaz for all her encouragement and kind comments.

Rick followed Daryl up the aisle of the theater, not sorry at all that the man had agreed to get a bite to eat with him. His eyes were glued to the sight of his ass, the way it flexed with his movements, the curves accentuated by the black leather vest hovering above it, the dingy wings a counterpoint to his gruff manner. 

Still, Rick reminded himself, nothing said that angels had to be talkative. 

As they emerged into the evening air, Daryl made straight for his bike, which Rick had parked beside again tonight. He climbed on, then glanced in Rick’s direction.

“So, Ford’s around the corner?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at Rick.

“That’s the one.” He got into his car and started it up, his rumbling stomach reminding him that he was starving.

Daryl made it there before Rick and he was already seated at the bar by the time Rick had parked and locked his car. He ambled in, noting the ambiance of the neighborhood bar; it was halfway between a dive and a cozy neighborhood hang out. The lights were low and the wood surfaces gleamed. Behind the bar was a big man with red hair, taking Daryl’s order.

He sat a beer in front of him as Rick slipped onto the bar stool to Daryl’s left, then added a big mug of Coke for Rick. 

“Thanks,” Rick murmured, impressed that Daryl had remembered he wasn’t drinking alcohol. He took a sip of the beverage and glanced toward the chalkboard menu on the wall. “What’s good here?”

Before Daryl could respond, the guy behind the bar answered. “I’ve got the best burgers in town,” he declared. 

“Good to know,” Rick smiled. The menu boasted six different burgers, along with a few cold sandwiches. 

“I’m Abraham Ford,” the bartender introduced himself, “welcome to my place.”

“Rick Grimes.” Rick shook the man’s hand. “This is…”

“Daryl’s a regular,” Abraham smiled. “You want your usual?” he asked, looking at Rick’s quiet companion.

Daryl just nodded, putting down his half empty mug of beer. 

“So, what’s that?” Rick asked. “Your ‘regular’?”

“Barbeque burger,” Daryl answered, his eyes on his mug.

“Sounds good. I’ll have the same,” Rick told Abraham. He glanced up at the menu again. “With the sweet potato fries.”

“Coming right up,” Abraham nodded.

“Barbeque, huh?” Rick asked, looking over at Daryl. 

Daryl grunted. 

Rick took another drink of his coke. “You come here a lot then?”

“Since I started helping Michonne at the theater.” Daryl moved his beer mug around, creating patterns in the condensation on the bar.

“Right,” Rick said, “she mentioned you helped on one of the other shows she directed.”

“She kept talkin’ about the show while I was working on stuff around her house,” Daryl offered, sounding almost annoyed. Since he said most things in that tone of voice though, Rick figured he wasn’t really exasperated about it.

“I’ve really missed hanging around a theater. It’s been years and years.”

Daryl gave a short nod. “Guess arrestin’ people cuts into rehearsal time.”

Rick couldn’t be sure whether Daryl was being snide or joking. Did the guy actually ever joke? Was he still trying to dig at Rick about the time he came to pick up Merle? He decided to side step the issue.

“It was really my wife that didn’t want me doing that,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

Daryl gave a noncommittal grunt. 

“I figured, now that she’s not around to fill up my time with chores around the house and community meetings, I can do what I enjoy again.” He watched the other man covertly, not wanting to bore him but hoping he would at least get him talking a little. “You ever been married?” he asked, figuring a direct question might work.

Daryl snorted derisively. “Hell no.” He punctuated his response with a slight shudder.

Rick chuckled at Daryl’s response. “Looking back, I can see where avoiding the whole thing might have been a better choice. But then I wouldn’t have my son.”

“You got a kid?” For the first time, Daryl turned his gaze toward Rick, however briefly. 

“He’s twelve. I don’t get to see him much.” Rick took a drink from his mug. “Ex-wife moved away. I really miss him.”

“That’s fucked up.” Daryl looked away again, his face unreadable after expressing his opinion. 

“You’re not wrong about that,” Rick assured. “He’s the best thing in my life. I love being a father. Carl’s a great kid. And I want to be there for him as he’s growin’ up.”

Daryl swirled his mug again. “Not all fathers feel that way.”

Rick wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He had a feeling that it was more than just an idle comment but sensed that asking Daryl what he meant by it would be prying. 

“He’ll be here for two months during his summer vacation,” he said instead. “The play will be over by then and I’ll have plenty of time to do things with him.”

“Must have a lot of time on your hands,” Daryl observed, obviously recalling that Rick had said he wasn’t working any more.

“Yeah. And it drives me nuts.” Rick forced a chuckle. 

Abraham arrived with their food just then, setting plates overflowing with fries and the high-stacked burgers in front of them. The burgers were on toasted buns, dripping with barbeque sauce and layered lettuce, tomatoes and onions. 

Daryl picked up his burger and dove in, squeezing it to a manageable size first, then taking a huge bite. Rick followed suit, savoring the taste as he chewed. It was delicious. He nodded at Abraham. “This is good.”

“Don’t call me Paula Deen, but the sauce is my own recipe,” the big man said with pride. 

Rick swallowed. “Okay, then,” he grinned, glancing toward Daryl as Abraham turned toward some new customers that had entered. 

Daryl had shoveled a handful of fries into his mouth. Rick figured that as a way to avoid conversation, it worked pretty well. He attacked his sweet potato fries, enjoying the slightly sweet crunch, then took another bite of his burger. 

For several minutes, they ate in silence. Rick enjoyed it, even though Daryl wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Lori had used mealtimes to try to get Rick to talk about his feelings and it was nice to just sit and eat without having to analyze everything that had happened during the day. Instead, the two of them just chowed down side by side here with no need for small talk or personal revelations. Up close to him like this, Rick was even more impressed with his looks. The high cheekbones made him seem almost exotic, the broad shoulders giving Rick thoughts he tried to suppress.

Still, it would be nice to learn more about his reticent companion. Rick had hoped he would be better able to see Daryl’s eyes, but the lighting at the bar was so dim, he still couldn’t. He kept hoping that he would think of something to say that would get Daryl to actually look straight at him, but so far, he hadn’t come up with anything that would work. He didn’t want to pry or ask questions that were too personal, and most conversational gambits didn’t seem to work with this man.

He didn’t mind though. It was enough – almost – to just be able to sit there with him. Rick hadn’t realized what being in the company of a good-looking man would feel like. It was different from when he had thought he was straight. Then, hanging out with a friend was just that: relaxing, eating, with no pressure or expectations. 

Now, Rick wanted to make a good impression – though what exactly would such a thing be for someone like Daryl? Clearly unconcerned with his own table manners, Daryl wouldn’t care if Rick ended up wearing most of the barbeque sauce on his face or got lettuce stuck in his teeth. Still, it was nice to not have that sort of thing to worry about. On the other hand, he didn’t want to come off as overbearing or pushy. Daryl was standoffish and clearly didn’t suffer fools lightly, so Rick kept worrying about how he seemed to him on a personal level.

For his part, Daryl didn’t seem to notice one way or the other. At least that’s what Rick kept telling himself. He paid attention to the food in front of him and the amount of beer in his glass, not on what to say or who he was with. Or so it seemed. Thinking about how introverted the guy appeared, and where he’d grown up, maybe he was just good at appearing to not care, but perhaps the shyness was the result of more than just a lack of social experience. 

“You grew up out there where… uh… where we met?” Rick asked, putting down his half eaten burger and drinking some coke to wash it down.

Daryl nodded. “More or less.” 

“I’m used to the city but I always thought it would be cool to have a place out in the woods.”

“Vacation’s one thing,” Daryl said, licking ketchup and grease off his fingers. “Livin’ that way alla time’s different.”

“Guess so. I’d probably not be that good at it. My idea of roughing it is probably different from yours.”

Daryl quirked a glance at him. “Always lived kinda rough,” he said, his voice low. “Wouldn’t know what ta do otherwise.”

Rick couldn’t think of a response to that so he asked another question. “How’d you get into construction?”

“I was the only one tried to keep the house from falling apart,” Daryl said after a moment. He lifted his hand and when he caught Abraham’s attention, pointed toward his empty beer mug. “Place was drafty, roof leaked – it was close to fallin’ down most of the time. Started when I was just a kid, for somethin’ to do.”

“So, you’re mostly self-taught?” Rick hoped the comment would encourage Daryl to keep talking.

“Apprenticed with a guy for a few years.” Daryl surprised him by saying. “Struck out on my own, been workin’ for myself ever since.”

“I should have studied something other than law enforcement,” Rick said, taking another bite of his burger. After he swallowed he went on. “Then I’d have something I could do now.”

Daryl fiddled with his fries for a moment. “The sheriff’s office won’t let you work a desk?”

Rick sighed. Although that would have meant he would still be on the force, the idea of being chained to a desk, unable to get out in the field would have made him feel even more frustrated. He had argued to be allowed to do it though. “Doctor says that would be more stressful,” he finally admitted. It was embarrassing to admit that to the strong, muscular man beside him.

“Huh,” Daryl said, his voice slightly on the surprised side. 

For some reason, despite the feelings that the discussion brought up for Rick, he wanted to be honest. “I was hit in the chest,” he said finally. “Not directly in the heart but it caused damage to it anyway. They tell me it was touch and go for awhile there. I was legally dead for two minutes. So physical stress and… and other stress…” He trailed off, worried that he had revealed too much and would seem like a basket case. He drew in a breath. “Most of the time, I don’t feel like there’s anything wrong. So it’s weird to have the doctors still telling me what I can and can’t do.”

Daryl turned toward him then, actually twisting his body to face Rick. He peered out from under the long hair that fell into his eyes, looking Rick up and down as if for the first time. “You look okay t’me.” His voice was soft, but definite.

Rick felt his skin tingle as the man’s gaze swept over him, surprised at how Daryl’s scrutiny made him feel. He’d been looking at Daryl every chance he got since seeing him at the first audition and it felt strange for the other man to finally seem to take notice of his appearance. He hadn’t even realized how much he had wanted that gaze to rest on him, for Daryl to _see_ him. 

But what did the other man perceive when he looked him over that way? The flaws that Rick’s ex-wife had not been able to ignore, the failure to be able to earn a decent living? 

It didn’t seem that way. _You look okay t’me._ he had said. As if he saw not a man who had been stitched back together and was trying to find himself again, but more like he actually had managed it, to some degree. 

But there was something more in the words – in the tone of Daryl’s voice. He usually spoke in such a gruff tone and Rick didn’t know him well enough to catch the nuances of his speech but that statement had been different. His voice was almost deliberately smooth, the words low but sincere. And in a way, considering the long look Daryl favored him with before he said them, Rick couldn’t help thinking there was almost something flirtatious in the statement. As if Daryl was saying that he liked what he saw when he looked at Rick.

But – he tried to restrain his imagination – that had to be projection. Just because he thought Daryl was hot looking it certainly didn’t mean that the guy would view Rick as attractive. The idea that this man who had grown up in a backwoods cabin, who hunted and built things with his hands, who seemed more reticent than anybody Rick had ever met, might be even slightly interested in another man… 

Not that he bought into stereotypes, but Rick just wasn’t that self-confident. 

Daryl’s gaze lingered a few seconds longer while Rick’s whole being quaked with confusion. He felt sweat break out under his arms and drip down his back. Then Daryl turned back to his remaining fries and Rick breathed a quiet sigh of relief. 

He attacked the rest of his own dinner, trying to hide the flush creeping over his face. He hoped his discomfiture didn’t show. A good-looking guy he was becoming attracted to had looked at him. That shouldn’t cause Rick to blush, sweat and tremble like he was fourteen.

Of course, Daryl sat there next to him, seemingly unaware of Rick’s reaction and for the life of him, Rick didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad one. On the one hand, it was certainly less embarrassing to think the other man didn’t realize the effect he had on Rick. But if there was any chance at all that Daryl was interested in him – and that idea itself caused another frisson of nerves to sweep through Rick’s body – should he give some indication that Daryl’s attention pleased him? 

“Uh…” Rick’s throat was so parched he could barely speak. He guzzled the last of his coke and tried again. “Mm.. thanks. I mean…”

Daryl glanced at him sideways, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly in what Rick hoped was a smile. 

Then he dug in his jeans pocket, fingers barely able to get into it due to the tightness, and produced some crumpled bills. He dropped them on the bar as payment for his burger. 

“Wanna play some darts?” Daryl asked, nodding in the direction of the board on the wall to their far right. He was already sliding off the barstool.

Rick was so surprised that he once again had trouble speaking. “Sure,” he managed, putting his own cash down next to his empty plate and following Daryl to the dart board.

He used to be pretty good at darts back when he was in college so he figured he would be able to hold his own against Daryl. Still, it had been a long time since he had played. As he walked over to the dart board area, Daryl was already taking a few practice throws. Rick managed to take his eyes off the man’s flexing biceps to see where his darts had landed – and sure enough, there were three right in the bull’s eye, two in the outer green ring and one right in the center bull. 

“Great,” Rick said, already knowing he was going up against a pro. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Daryl walked to the board and pulled his darts out of it. “Just a friendly game. We won’t bet.”

“Okay, but I haven’t played in years.”

“How were you handlin’ a gun?” Daryl asked him.

“Decent,” Rick answered. “I do have a marksmanship medal. But darts…”

“Same thing,” Daryl insisted. “If you got the eyesight to hit a target with a weapon, you can probably hit the dart board where you want.”

“If you say so.” Rick grinned shaking his head. “Let me take a few practice throws first.”

Daryl gave one of his quick nods and stepped back out of the way. 

Rick picked up three darts, hefting them in his hand to get the feel of them. They were the thin, light kind he was used to at least. He stepped up to the line and turned sideways so his right side was perpendicular to the line and the board. Then, grasping the dart like a pencil, he bought it up level with his eye and let it fly toward the board.

It landed in the black 20 section. Rick was relieved he didn’t miss the entire board.

He threw his second dart, but it hit in the 11 section, barely catching the board. The third one, he took his time, held his breath like he did when target shooting and this time, he found the green section of the bullseye.

He turned around to look at Daryl, surprised to find the man’s eyes crinkling a bit in an almost-smile. 

“Well?” Rick asked, daring him to say something negative.

“I’ve seen worse,” Daryl grumbled. “So you wanta do a game or just some practice stuff?”

“I don’t even know if I remember all the games and scoring,” Rick admitted. 

“There’s this practice game,” Daryl said, “pretty easy to score and don’t take that long. Called ‘27’.”

“Okay. How’s it work?” 

“We start with 27 points. You aim for the sections in order, so you start with double 1, and throw three darts. If you hit that, you add it to your points. If you miss all three, you deduct the value of the double.”

Rick was fascinated to hear Daryl string more than a couple of sentences together and he had to concentrate to follow the supposedly simple rules he’d laid out. 

Of course, it was going to be trickier to hit the narrow “double” section of the dart board. But Rick was game for it, if only to be able to spend more time with Daryl. He wasn’t sure why or how it had happened, but Daryl had gone from acting as though Rick was an annoyance to him to apparently finding him a bit more agreeable. 

Daryl went first in the game. As Rick watched, he stepped up to the line, held up his dart in nimble fingers and let it fly in a move that was both light and yet powerful. It hit exactly where he wanted it to go, in the narrow green space under the number one. His face was studious as he aimed, his precision beautiful to behold. His second and third darts landed right next to the first and Rick couldn’t help grinning at his expertise. 

“Thirty-one,” Daryl declared in his low, husky voice. He moved up to retrieve his darts and instead of thinking about his own turn coming up, all Rick could do was admire the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles in his arms, the way his waist narrowed over his slim hips.

When Daryl turned around, he couldn’t help but notice Rick staring. 

Rick tried to play it off casually. “Don’t know if I can do that,” he murmured, trying to fight the blush that rose in his cheeks, flushing even more when he heard how his own words sounded like a double entendre.

Daryl didn’t miss a beat. “You c’n try.” 

Rick decided he couldn’t possibly be teasing him when Daryl then simply stepped out of the way so Rick could throw his darts.

Of course he missed. All three. It was embarrassing.

They went back and forth, Daryl proceeding with easy concentration, showing a hunter’s skill at the game that had Rick imagining him slipping through the forest in search of squirrels, taking down every one he got in his sights.

Rick missed time after time. He told himself it was just his nervousness, brought on by his attraction to the other man. He was trying so hard that he couldn’t even play as well as he had years ago. He had hoped muscle memory would come to his aid, but in the face of Daryl’s competence, Rick was a complete novice. He missed more than he hit, deducting points while Daryl added them. 

On the last turn, trying to hit the double 5, Rick took a breath and held it, shifted his arm back and forth in a couple practice moves and finally let go. His dart sailed into the board, for once landing exactly where he’d wanted it to land. He let out a breath of relief, turning to catch Daryl’s gaze. The man was leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into his pockets, watching him from under his long, messy hair. 

“Two more,” Rick said into the silence. And he did it. He grinned proudly at his new acquaintance who simply shook his head at him. He didn’t win but at least he hadn’t totally zeroed out.

“Hey, I told you I was out of practice,” he said, feeling a bit defensive. 

Daryl ducked his head. “That’s what you said,” he murmured in a tone that Rick had no way of interpreting. 

He stood there, feeling like he should go but not really wanting the evening to end. Finally, he realized it would be weird to try to prolong things.

“Well, I gotta go home and read over the script,” Rick said finally. “Are you going to be there for the table read tomorrow night?”

Daryl gave his affirmative shrug as he finished putting the darts away. 

Rick still felt he should say something more. “This was fun,” he offered, sensing awkwardness returning between them. “Maybe,” he paused, hoping he wasn’t going too far, “maybe we can do this again.”

Daryl hesitated a moment, not looking up at Rick. When he spoke, his voice was soft, barely audible. “Okay.” He cleared his throat noisily. “Next time you want me to beat your ass at darts, just say the word.” 

With that, and a wave of his hand in Abraham’s direction, Daryl turned toward the door.

Rick hurried after him. “I didn’t do that bad…” he insisted while the words _your ass_ rang in his head.


	6. Mom’s Making Bath Buns – Gird Your Loins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first rehearsal ends abruptly when Daryl gets an unexpected phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to MaroonCamaro for the nice beta job and to MermaidSheenaz for her invaluable input and encouragement.

Chapter 6: Mom’s Making Bath Buns – Gird Your Loins

 

Rick slept well that night, and felt pretty good when he woke the next morning. It had been a lot of fun hanging out with Daryl at the bar. Playing darts had been a challenge and, while a bit embarrassing, getting to know the man better had been worth it. He still didn’t know him well enough though – and he wanted to. 

Still, if even darts wasn’t enough to break the ice, Rick wasn’t sure what would be. The man just didn’t seem to like to talk. Not about himself at least and Rick wasn’t sure if there was a topic that might interest him enough to open up and have more than five words to say. Politics? Probably not. Sports? Other than darts, he wondered if Daryl was interested at all in baseball or basketball. He’d occasionally gone to watch the Braves but he doubted that a guy like Daryl had ever attended a pro game. What was he going to do, ask the guy on a date to see one? 

Rick supposed he should stick with what they had in common for now. There was the play and darts. He would see Daryl tonight at the first rehearsal, he supposed. And maybe they could go back to Ford’s to play darts again.

Rick had a sudden inspiration. He glanced at his watch and realized he had enough time to go pick up a dart board for his apartment. He could practice at home and maybe at least give Daryl more of a run for his money. Plus, it would be fun – something he could do that wasn’t too physically taxing. Aside from the exercise he got at physical therapy, he really should be doing more to keep in shape. 

He grabbed his keys and headed out to the Sports Authority at the nearby mall. 

 

***  
By the time he’d had dinner and changed into a new pair of jeans, it was almost time to leave for the theater. He had installed the new dart board and practiced for two hours, getting much better at hitting the double spaces than he had been last night. Rick had re-read his script earlier that morning, and made some notes and he felt ready for the initial table read. He was anticipating how the others would handle their roles, but he freely admitted he was looking forward to seeing Daryl again.

Somehow, overnight it had settled in his mind, fully accepted and appreciated. He was attracted to the man. No more would he try to tell himself he wasn’t, that he was merely curious or interested in just a friendly way. Sure, it would be nice to have a new friend now that his life had changed so much. But more than just his marital and physical situation had changed. 

He was single. He was gay – trying to be gay at least. And as a gay man, why shouldn’t he notice a man who was hot looking? A man with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, sculpted biceps and sturdy thighs wouldn’t be ignored by most gay guys, he reasoned. A man with the most fascinating face he’d ever seen wouldn’t just be written off as slightly interesting. 

So, Rick thought, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as he finished running a brush through his unruly curls, he was fully on board with being attracted to Daryl Dixon. 

Now all he had to do was not _act like_ he was attracted to the guy. Or at least not so much that the guy punched him or hated him. Or so _much_ that he made a fool of himself to Daryl and to everybody else in the show.

And one other thing, he thought, putting down his brush and running a hand through the just-tamed curls to ruffle them just a bit so they didn’t look overly combed. Just one other thing: if he did act like he was attracted to Daryl and Daryl actually was okay with that… 

A little thrill of anticipation rushed down his spine at that thought. Rick met his own eyes in the mirror, nervously licking his lips. He loosened the top button of his shirt, not wanting to appear over-dressed for the rehearsal or too tense. If Daryl somehow was okay with another man thinking he was hot, if he might actually think Rick was okay looking in return… what then?

He sighed and turned away from his introspection. There was no point in worrying any more about that right now. First things first. It was time to go to the theater, to say the lines of a gay man – one who, unlike Rick was comfortable with that part of himself because he had a partner -- and not worry about anything else but that. 

Rick grabbed his script and shoved it into his back pocket, then pulled on his comfortable old jacket with the faux lamb collar, picked up his keys from the hook by the door and headed out into the early evening air, on his way to everything new in his life.

 

 

It was getting to be second nature to pull into the parking space next to Daryl’s bike now. Rick absolutely didn’t spend a whole thirty seconds staring at the motorcycle and thinking of Daryl on it, his legs spread to either side of it, the engine purring between his thighs…. He gulped, feeling hot under the collar and telling himself it was just the early spring heat as he tore his glance away and headed inside.

A long table had been set up on the stage and chairs were around it in preparation for the evening’s read through. As usual, Rick was the first person there – of the cast, at least -- though obviously Daryl was on the premises. 

While Rick waited, the lighting over the stage came up, the stage fluorescents  
being turned on, which would be more suitable for reading from their scripts. As the lights came up, Rick turned toward the booth at the back of the auditorium and caught sight of the other man through the glass of the booth. It was only a moment before he exited through the door, ambling down the aisle toward Rick, dressed in his usual sleeveless shirt with the leather vest over it, long legs encased in dark pants and the same heavy boots he always wore.

“Hey,” he said, gruff voice soft and low, when he found Rick there.

Surprised that Daryl was the first to speak, Rick couldn’t contain a grin. “Hi. How’re you doing tonight?”

Daryl shrugged as if to say he was fine, Rick assumed. He cleared his throat, wishing it was easier to make conversation with the man. “Guess I’m early again.”

Daryl was almost in front of him. “Ya like it here.”

Rick grinned again. “Guilty as charged.”

“You’d know more about that shit than me, Officer.” Daryl stepped past him and bent over his backpack that he’d left in the front row of seats, unzipping it.

“Hey now,” Rick said, hoping the man was just joking. “You know I’m no longer in law enforcement. Just a civilian now.”

Daryl stood up, a water bottle in his hand. “Didn’t forget,” he said, unscrewing the cap. “You’re just easy to mess with.”

“What?” Rick feigned annoyance, secretly pleased that Daryl felt comfortable enough to joke with him. “I thought you weren’t holding that against me, man.”

Daryl just shook his head, and Rick could see that the corner of his mouth was quirked the tiniest bit upward. It was the side with that little mole that Rick privately called a beauty mark in his head. 

“You got water?” Daryl asked, taking another sip from his bottle.

“Hmm?” Rick was surprised at the question, having sort of lost himself for a second as he watched Daryl drink from the bottle, noting the way his lips encircled the opening. “No. Probably should have, I guess.”

Daryl bent over his backpack again and produced second bottle of water. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Rick.

“Thanks.” Rick took it from him, noting it was still cold as he clasped it. His fingers briefly touched Daryl as they exchanged the bottle of water. Rick tore his eyes away from the other man’s as he uncapped the bottle and took a long drink to settle his sudden nerves.

The auditorium doors banged open just then. Rick realized that the others must be starting to arrive. But he also noticed that, next to him, Daryl gave an almost imperceptible flinch at the unexpected sound. Rick wondered again why he reacted that way, what had happened to him to make him start at unexpected noises or touches. 

But then the auditorium was filling with the cast and Daryl slumped into the seat in the front row next to his pack, eyes down. Everybody started greeting each other, though Daryl mostly stayed out of it by keeping his head down, chin nearly on his chest, looking as if he was angry with the world, the expression he often wore when things seemed boisterous.

Young Beth didn’t seem to notice or care. She gleefully called his name and flopped into the seat beside him. “Oh, Daryl, I didn’t think you’d be here tonight!” she beamed at him.

Rick, who hadn’t moved from his position near Daryl’s seat, noted that the man did look up at the teenager, but just barely. “I’m here,” he said, his voice not much more than a mutter, but Rick was glad to see that even though he wasn’t exactly happy at her attention, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to ignore her. He might be shy and awkward, but Daryl was a nice guy. 

Michonne entered through the side door, waving hello to the cast. People quieted down pretty quickly, all looking toward her.

“We usually do read throughs in one of the rehearsal rooms but I thought it would be good to set up on the stage itself,” she announced. “Plus, I don’t know what happened, but there is a really weird smell going on back there. I think we’d all be better off out here.”

After some laughter, people started gravitating to the stage, choosing seats around the table. Rick cast a look back at Daryl, who hadn’t said anything since Beth’s greeting. 

As if aware of Rick’s gaze, Daryl glanced up. His long hair obscured his eyes, but Rick could tell they were on him, diffident yet somehow intent as well. 

“You going to hang around?” he asked the other man.

The usual shrug. “Probably.”

“Good. Maybe we can go over to Ford’s after.” Rick hoped he didn’t sound too anxious.

Daryl nodded, then glanced down at his backpack again, as if it was suddenly very interesting. If Rick didn’t know better, he would have thought the guy was sort of embarrassed by Rick’s invitation. Or something like that. Self-conscious maybe.  
But that couldn’t be it. Daryl was just a quiet, sort of taciturn guy. Not very social. 

Rick wanted to nudge at his shoulder before he moved away, but knew that sort of gesture wouldn’t be welcomed. “Okay,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Talk to you later.”

Without looking up, Daryl nodded again, the movement so slight this time that Rick barely saw it.

He climbed up the steps to join the rest of the cast at the table. Michonne was already sitting at the end of the table where she could preside and direct the reading. Rick took the seat to her left and Shane, giving him a hearty clap on the shoulder, dropped into the chair on Rick’s left. Philip, tall and lanky, sat across from them, adjusting his chair so that he was centered between Rick and Shane. 

Beth sat on Shane’s left and Rick smothered a grin at the thought that she chose that side so she could more easily see Daryl from there. Carol sat next to her, with Andrea sliding into the seat next to Philip on the other side. She smiled at him. 

“Hello, husband,” she said, referring to their characters’ relationship. 

“Nice to see you again,” Philip returned in a silky voice dripping with Southern charm. 

“How are you tonight?” Shane said, leaning toward the blonde from across the table. Rick figured he had already set his sights on her. Beth was too young and the other women who had just arrived, Denise and Carol, weren’t his type. They joined the group, taking seats on that side of the table.

“Have you started yet?” came a young sounding voice. The guy playing Wes – was it Glenn? – had just entered the auditorium and was running down the aisle. He bounded up the steps and took the last seat at the far end of the table. “Sorry. Had to work late.” He took off his baseball cap, dropping it on the table, wiped his brow with one hand and pulled out his script with the other.

“It’s all right,” Michonne assured him. “We haven’t started reading yet.” She glanced out toward the seats. “You want to come up here, Daryl? I may want to be able to give you some notes as we go.”

Another nod, followed by Daryl clearing his throat and adding a soft, “sure.” He got up and climbed up onto the stage, taking a chair nearby and pulling it up close to Michonne’s. That put him on Rick’s right, though he was back a little from the group seated at the table. He pulled a legal pad out of his backpack.

The reading got started, right at the beginning of the show with the scene Rick and Shane had done at the audition. When the kiss part came, Shane looked over at him and gave a “smooch” sound effect, his eyebrows wiggling. 

Beth giggled and, Rick noted, so did Glenn. Covertly, he glanced toward Daryl, and saw the man sort of squirm in his seat and roll his eyes at Shane’s actions. His lips were pressed together as if he were trying to restrain a chuckle of his own.

“We’ll work up to that,” Michonne said. “Going on…”

Soon, Andrea and Philip were joining in, as were Carol and Denise, when the other characters entered, either from other rooms in the house or from their off-stage “tour” of Ken’s hometown. It was the fourth of July and they bantered about the fireworks display, along with other matters as the characters entered and were introduced to the audience.

Andrea was really good, Rick noted. Her voice was bold and bright and her body even took on the character despite just sitting there to read the script. 

“I want you to know, this afternoon I have set your town on its _ass_ ” she announced as Gwen.

“Don’t kid yourself,” Philip responded, as John, “Lebanon, Missouri has been on its ass for a hundred and fifty years.”

“I love the way you people live,” Andrea as Gwen said effusively. The stage directions said she was supposed to kiss Jed so she made her own smooch sound in Shane’s direction.

“I have to go turn off the water,” Shane dead-panned as Jed.

Then Andrea asked him what the “sweet little red flags” were that she was supposed to pull out of her purse and start waving around.

Shane began Jed’s explanation of how he was growing hedges for his English garden and Rick was impressed by his change in tone from the way he talked as himself. Jed was supposed to be annoyed by the presence of both John and Gwen but he was a bit more polite to her, despite her silliness in not realizing she had taken the flags that had marked tiny cuttings of plants he was growing that would eventually become seven foot tall hedges.

Sounding put upon, Shane repeated Jed’s comment about needing to turn off the water. Then Rick had the lines for Ken where he told Gwen and John about how Jed had lived at the big family house all winter while he was in St. Louis instead.

“What kind of a lover sits down here all winter rooting hedges?” Andrea read Gwen’s line.

“A botanical lover,” Rick as Ken responded, hoping he gave the line the right sense of irony.

The others snickered and he was pleased, but Shane spoke up. “Shouldn’t that sound a little… gayer?”

Behind him, he thought he heard Daryl stifle a chuckle.

Rick looked over at Shane. “What?”

“I think it could be,” Michonne said. “Not exactly campy or anything, Rick, but Jed is your lover.”

“Okay.” Rick cleared his throat, thought a minute and then repeated the line. “A _botanical_ lover,” he said, this time trying to put a little more emphasis on the word, as if he were proud of Jed and what he did.

“Good, Rick,” Michonne encouraged. “Like that.”

They went on, with Beth finally having her lines as the thirteen-year-old Shirley who was very dramatic and opinionated as Ken’s niece. She did a great job and when she got a little laugh from her reading, she would glance over at Daryl to see if he had noticed. Rick felt sorry for him as he tried his best to appear as though he were writing important things on his legal pad. 

They continued, with Philip as John being appropriately flirty with a long distance operator on the phone, Denise nicely digging at him about their past as she read June’s lines, and Carol sounding both goofy and wise as she went on about Aunt Sally’s macramé hobby and her not wanting to move to California to live in a seniors development next to Ken and June’s parents. The plan for the evening was to dump the ashes of her late husband Matt, who had been deceased for a year and was being kept in a candy box. Every body laughed at Shane’s delivery – when at one point nobody remembered where the candy box was – of the line, “He’s in the refrigerator!”

Rick played his imaginary tape recording of a boy he was tutoring. He was supposed to have psychological issues which caused his speech to be distorted and impossible to understand.

Michonne spoke up. “I’ve got to find someone to record those lines for the tape. Most of the time, nobody will be able to catch a word of it, but by the end of the play, it will suddenly start sounding clearer. For now, just think of it as being really guttural.”

Rick nodded, then noting the stage directions in the script. _He gets up, taking a crutch in each hand, and crosses to another chair._

“How’s that going to work?” Rick asked Michonne. He was worried about that aspect of his character. That was the moment that revealed to the audience that Ken had lost his legs in Viet Nam.

“It’s the first time the audience will realize that Ken uses crutches,” Michonne pointed out. “I’ll never forget how the audience gasped when I saw the show in Savannah. Rick – your movements have got to convey that he has prosthetic legs.”

Rick felt everyone looking at him. “I know. Not sure about that though,” he said.

“I’ve heard about it being done with the actor wearing something under his pants to keep his legs stiff,” Michonne explained, “but I saw a great production of this show where the actor just kept his legs immobile himself.” 

Rick nodded. “I can try it around my apartment,” he offered.

“We’ll see how you do,” Michonne said, “If you can do it that way, that would be the easiest. Otherwise, I’m sure we can construct something for you. Daryl?” she asked, turning to him.

Daryl looked up, seeming surprised at the comment directed toward him. His eyes glanced between Michonne and Rick. “Uh, sure,” he said finally, scribbling a note on his pad. 

Rick couldn’t help thinking about Daryl building him some device that would help him portray Ken’s artificial legs. Would he have to touch Rick to fit it? 

Still, it would probably be best if he did work out how to portray it on his own, for more than just that it might be really embarrassing to have Daryl have to get that close to him. 

Then came the raunchy part where Shirley was up in a tree and looked through the window where she saw John and Gwen having sex. The dialogue was supposed to be loud and overlapping but this time, as it was just the first read through, they read the lines one by one, even though they were printed out as columns in the script.

John was supposed to be mock indignant, Shirley horrified and Gwen – who joined the scene after coming downstairs wearing nothing but a sheet – was thrilled to know that she and her husband had been “caught in the act.” Rick enjoyed Andrea’s dramatic reading of that particular line.

But Shirley had to say what she’d seen. Beth, who Rick realized had led a sheltered life, made the best of it.

“He was fully dressed and Gwen was fully naked,” she started off. But when it came to where she had to say _”and he was performing cunnilingus all over her”_ she looked completely mortified, blushing to the roots of her blonde hair. 

The table got a little quiet for a moment.

Beth said softly, “I’m sorry. I never… never said that word out loud before.” If anything, she turned even redder after making that admission.

“It’s okay, Beth,” Shane spoke up. “You’ve gotta start somewhere.” He added a little leer to his words, which made Beth look like she wanted to die on the spot.

Behind him, Daryl sat forward, his face instantly looking like he was about to get up and punch Shane. Rick tensed, his old instincts going on alert, ready to jump in and prevent any violence.

“Shane,” Michonne spoke up sternly, “she’s seventeen.”

To his credit, Shane looked remorseful. “I’m sorry, Beth,” he said sincerely. Across the table, Philip was hiding a grin behind his hand, looking as if he was happy about Shane’s gaff. He glanced over at Andrea, his expression trying to convey that he would never be such a jerk. Andrea, Rick noticed, rolled her eyes at him and consulted her script in the ensuing silence.

“Beth,” Michonne went on, “don’t worry about it. Read it out loud at home until you get used to it. Besides, you’ll be saying those lines at the same time as Philip and Andrea are saying theirs so it won’t even be that noticeable to the audience.”

“Okay,” Beth answered, her little voice sounding meek. 

Finally, the got to the end of the first act. Wes, the guitar player Glenn was playing and Aunt Sally – Carol’s part – were on the porch outside watching for UFOs while Ken was supposed to be on the floor doing his exercises with Jed watching him.

It was an intimate scene between the lovers. Ken was supposed to be panting and exhausted, talking about all the issues that had come up in the first act of the play.  
He didn’t want to go back to teaching school as he had planned and had talked about running away, maybe taking a trip to Greece, although it was obvious that Jed was more interested in staying where they were, being settled and working on his garden.

“So, what do we do?” Shane said, reading Jed’s lines. “You want to sell the house and run?” He managed to sound concerned, serious and patient. 

“I can’t teach those kids, Jed,” Rick read his voice sorrowful. “I can’t walk into a classroom again.”

The stage directions indicated that Jed was to get Ken up off the floor. _Jed picks up Ken, holding him in his arms. Ken leans his head against him._

“Pretty romantic,” Shane stage whispered to Rick. “How much do you weigh, brother?”

“How strong are you?” Rick shot back. He looked down at the script. “I really have knocked myself out,” he read, trying to sound truly fatigued.

“Hang in there,” Shane read the final line of the scene. He was supposed to carry Ken upstairs then. 

Presumably to bed, Rick realized, as everyone else in the house had also retired for the evening. He thought about being carried into the bedroom by his own male lover someday, warmth pooling in his belly at the idea that he tried to shrug off. He didn’t dare look in Daryl’s direction at that moment.

 

“I read that when they first did this show on Broadway,” Michonne said, breaking the silence around the table, “Jeff Daniels as Jed couldn’t hold Christopher Reeve, who was then playing Ken, for that long a time. He said the line, then picked him up and carried him up the stairs. But when Richard Thomas took over the role of Ken, Daniels could hold him up longer.”

Shane snickered. “Let’s hope your weight’s closer to John Boy than Superman,” he said to Rick.

Everybody laughed at that, and Rick found himself glancing back to see how Daryl was reacting to the comment, knowing he had been quietly mocking the guy throughout the reading, all without Shane’s realizing it. But a cell phone started ringing and Daryl began digging in his pack for it.

Michonne suggested that they take a break since they’d gotten through the first act of the play. Everybody got up from their seats, stretching and breaking into conversation.

“What the fuck?!”

Rick whirled at the sound of Daryl’s voice, louder than he’d ever heard him speak. 

He was yelling into his cell, obviously in distress. “You’re saying – what? Fuck!” he yelled a second time. “I want to see him!” As he listened to the other person, he began pacing back and forth, his movements jerky but menacing. “No, you listen to _me_ ” he shouted into the phone. “I’m comin’ up there tonight!” He listened again, still striding around the stage. “I don’t give a fuck what time visiting hours are! I’m comin’!” He was breathing hard, his hand not holding the phone clenching and pounding at the air. “I said I’m comin’!” He punched at his screen, then threw the phone toward his backpack, oblivious to the fact that it slid off and landed on the floor as he turned again, pacing in the opposite direction, now running his hands through his hair in anguish.

Most of the group backed away from Daryl’s tirade. Carol, Beth and Michonne moved toward him. Aware of their approach, he glared at them. “What the fuck you bitches lookin’ at?” he demanded. 

Carol and Beth recoiled and even Michonne stopped moving toward him. 

But Rick had heard not only Daryl’s anger, but the way his voice wavered. He took a step toward him, his long legs taking him closer than any of the others who had tried to go to Daryl. He held out a hand, palm up, making sure Daryl noticed his gesture.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice soft and patient, like he used to when talking to crime victims.

Daryl looked toward him and Rick could see that his whole body was shaking. His expression was a study in worry and confusion, all traces of anger replaced with the most vivid apprehension Rick had ever seen. He brought a trembling hand up to his mouth, biting at his thumbnail, his eyes blinking rapidly. But he didn’t yell at Rick the way he had the others.

Rick chanced a step closer. “Tell me, Daryl.” 

“That was the prison,” Daryl gasped out, his face torn with fear and a desperate need to escape from the theater. ““It’s… it’s my brother.”

Behind him, Rick heard Carol gasp. “Oh, Daryl.”

Daryl started pacing again, his movements spasmodic, his breath shuddering. His shoulders were heaving. Rick thought he might be on the verge of tears.

He took another step toward him. “What happened?” Visions of Merle being stabbed in a prison brawl, or maybe even killing someone else flashed into his mind. 

Daryl spoke without stopping his pacing, his arms gesturing wildly, looking as if he wished he had a weapon on him. “They didn’t say much,” he blurted out. “He… he lost his hand!” He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing a fist over his eyes, looking like a little boy who had just been told his big brother had been seriously injured.

“He’s alive though,” Michonne spoke, her voice calm like Rick’s but he could hear the worry in it. She was trying to be encouraging but Rick could tell that she was more concerned about Daryl than Merle himself.

“For now,” Daryl ground out. He cast a bewildered look at the group of people gathered around him. “I gotta get outta here.” He headed toward his backpack. 

Carol bent to pick up his phone and held it out to him. “Pookie, I’m so sorry,” she said, sympathy clear in her eyes. 

He glanced up at her, then his gaze darted away. “Michonne, I gotta – “

“Of course,” she told him smoothly. “Guys, we can quit for the night. It’s late anyway. We’ll do act two tomorrow evening.” 

People began to leave the stage, obviously all too glad to get out of Daryl’s tension-filled space. Soon only Rick and Carol were standing near him.

He was fiddling with the strap on his backpack, obviously torn about wanting to leave and so full of worry that he was hesitant to go. Rick saw his shoulders shake and his head dropped lower, his hands letting go of his pack.

Carol looked at Rick, obviously hoping he could help.

“Daryl,” Rick said, still keeping his voice as level as he could. “Let me drive you.”

The man bent to pick up his dropped backpack, shaking his head. He took a step toward the edge of the stage.

Carol headed him off. “Daryl, he’s right.” She touched his arm and Rick didn’t miss the way he seemed to make a monumental effort not to throw off her hand.

Rick took the opportunity to move closer to him too. “I’ll be glad to. You don’t want to take your bike that far.” He wasn’t sure where Merle was incarcerated but he knew any prison he might be in was at least several hundred miles outside of Atlanta. And he didn’t want to say what was obvious to both him and Carol – that Daryl was far too upset to think about going by himself.

“He’s at Georgia State,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “In Reidsville.” His eyes finally turned toward Rick. “I don’t wanta put you out.” He was trying to use his gruff, obstinate tone but it wasn’t quite working.

“Don’t worry about that,” Rick told him. “Come on. I’ve been there before. I don’t mind the drive.”

Daryl looked between them, his expression uncertain, lost.

“He’s right, Daryl. You should let Rick drive you,” Carol said.

Daryl hunched his shoulders, looking at the floor. “Okay.”

The three of them descended the steps and started up the aisle. Michonne met them half way, looking worriedly at Daryl’s bowed head. 

“I’m going to drive him,” Rick said.

She nodded. “Oh, that’s good. Daryl – call me and let me know how he is.”

Daryl sucked in a breath and nodded at her briefly. Carol pulled him forward and Rick took a chance, reaching to carefully put a hand at the man’s elbow, subtly helping him along.

Once outside, he pressed his key fob, the chirp sounding loud in the quiet evening. Daryl gave a jerk at the noise and Rick noted that Carol patted his arm soothingly. She opened the car door for him as Rick hurried around to the driver’s side and got in.

Daryl slumped into the passenger seat. Carol leaned in and Rick’s eyes widened when she pressed a quick kiss to the distraught man’s forehead. “Call me, too,” she reminded him.

“Drive carefully, Rick,” she admonished.

“I will. We’ll be all right,” Rick told her, hoping it would be true. He trusted his driving of course, but he wasn’t too certain about Daryl. 

He started the car, concern for his new friend all he could think about. He hoped for Daryl’s sake that Merle would pull through what ever had happened to him. As he drove out of the parking lot, his eyes strayed to the tense figure beside him. Rick saw how much he was hurting at the thought of his brother being maimed, and stacking that up against his memories of Daryl’s reaction when Rick had come to arrest Merle, he realized it was more than just a dislike of cops that had spurred his anger. He was devoted to the brother that most people thought of as just a criminal. 

Rick had attributed Daryl’s awkwardness in social situations to his impoverished upbringing, but now he realized that he must have been pretty much alone when Merle wasn’t around – maybe all he had, at least before becoming friends with Carol and Michonne, was his brother. 

At any rate, seeing him hurting so much brought out Rick’s protective instincts. His heart had immediately gone out to him when the phone call had come and with it, Daryl’s anguished response. And that’s when Rick knew -- it wasn’t just attraction for Daryl that he felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to just change my posting days for this thing. Sorry about that. It's not that I'm not working on it all the time but with the eps airing now it's hard for me to finish up after seeing the new ep on Sunday and needing to talk about it online the next day. 
> 
> Thursdays will be the day for the foreseeable future. Unless I end up just randomly updating but I'm trying hard not to do that with this fic.


	7. The Cheese Stands Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick drives Daryl to Georgia State Prison to find out more about Merle's condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MaroonCamaro for the beta.

_The Cheese Stands Alone_

 

Rick moved through the quiet streets, heading out of town and onto the interstate. He went south on I-75 and settled in for the long drive to Riedsville.

Beside him, Daryl was silent, brooding, tension radiating off him. He was staring forward but Rick was sure he was seeing nothing through the windshield. His hands were gripping tight at the backpack he had on his lap, shoulders hunched. The only sound out of him was his erratic breathing. Rick worried that he might hyperventilate but he hadn’t spoken since they’d started off, knowing that Daryl wasn’t up to talking.

But something inside Rick also couldn’t tolerate a two hundred mile journey in complete silence. And he figured that if they didn’t talk at all – or even if it was just him talking and Daryl putting up with the sound of his voice – Daryl’s tension was just going to escalate and when they got to the prison, there was no telling what he would do.

Rick understood these things. Family members couldn’t just storm into the prison at any old time of day or night, demanding to see their loved one, or the doctor or warden and to be told all the details. It just didn’t work that way. It was actually a wonder that they had even called Daryl in the first place. Maybe that’s where they could start talking about it.

“So who called you?” he asked as if they’d been chatting the whole way. “Was it the warden?”

Daryl harrumphed. “Deputy Warden, I guess.” He looked surprised at himself for responding.

“You know, that’s something,” Rick said, his eyes going back to the road. “I’ve heard of family not getting any kind of call for medical emergencies.”

“Ain’t they just sweet then,” Daryl said, clearly unimpressed. 

“Actually, yes,” Rick said, not at all bothered by Daryl’s attitude. “What exactly did they say?”

Daryl grunted and for a moment, it seemed nothing else would be forthcoming from him. Rick didn’t want to seem as though he was prying but the more information he had, the more help he could be when they got there. He didn’t say that though, figuring he’d let Daryl talk when he was ready to.

Finally Daryl seemed to force his shoulders to relax. He drew a huge breath and spoke. “Said there’d been ‘an accident’. Said he was alive. In surgery. Said he lost his fuckin’ hand.” His voice held anger, suspicion and unrelenting concern. 

“Yeah, they’re not known for handing out the details,” Rick commiserated. “So you don’t know if it was an accident or a fight or…”

“Or nothin’,” Daryl finished. He gripped his backpack tighter, looking as though he needed something to hold onto. 

Rick wished they were close enough that he could put a hand on his shoulder. If he didn’t manage to calm down at least a little, he was likely to storm into the prison and start breaking things… or people… or things and people. And then Daryl would wind up in jail himself and that wouldn’t do him or Merle any good whatsoever.

“Told me not to come there, too,” Daryl announced unnecessarily. Rick had figured that much from his end of the conversation. “Like he’s nothin’ ta me.”

“But you’re going,” Rick reminded him. “And of course he’s something to you.”

Daryl heaved a sigh and when he glanced over, Rick noted that his grip on his pack wasn’t quite as white-knuckled. All Rick did was acknowledge Daryl’s feelings. He felt like maybe that wasn’t a frequent thing for Daryl. 

“Never had nobody but Merle.” The words seemed to have just slipped out and Rick knew Daryl’s raging emotions were the reason. He had figured that was so, but he didn’t say anything like that out loud. 

“He’s been in how long?” he asked instead. He knew Merle had been convicted of homicide by vehicle, as the felony was termed in Georgia, but since he was no longer on the force, he couldn’t easily look up the information. For a second he thought about that: would he dig into Daryl’s brother’s record if he was still a sheriff’s deputy? Would that violate Daryl’s privacy? Would Rick be able to help himself, even taking that into consideration. It wasn’t like Daryl was the kind of man who would sit down with you and give you his life story in detail. Still, Rick realized that if he wanted the information badly enough, he could go to the court house and look at the public records. He didn’t think he would feel right about that or obtaining them through police channels either.

“Was six years this winter,” Daryl said mournfully. “Last time we talked, told me his lawyer was sayin’ stuff about him getting out soon. Sentence was for ten years, but Merle’s behaved himself inside.” 

“Mm-hmm.” Rick made an encouraging sound. Privately he wondered how that would be affected by the current situation. If Merle had fought with another inmate, parole would be less likely. If the accident had – miraculously – been due to something else, it might speed his release. 

Six years… Rick tried to do some mental calculations. And the car wreck Merle had been involved in had happened at least two or three years after he’d come to the Dixon home to arrest him on that drug charge. And seen Daryl’s wrath up close and personal. It was hard to imagine that less than ten years later, he’d be riding in a car with that same wild man who’d acted like he was destroying his life by taking in his brother. 

Maybe, in some way, Rick had. But time was a funny thing. He hadn’t ever thought he wouldn’t be a cop anymore. Or be divorced. Or go back to theater. Or be driving the same man to Georgia State Prison after having impure thoughts about him for the last week. 

“Maybe this will help make up for that time I took Merle in,” Rick said, his voice soft, hating to bring that up but in some way feeling responsible for at least part of Daryl’s turmoil. 

“Told ya at the restaurant,” Daryl said, finally glancing in Rick’s direction, “water under the bridge.”

“I know, but…” Rick let the rest of the sentence trail off. “But like I said, I don’t mind driving you.”

Daryl stretched his big frame as much as he could manage in the small front seat. He gave one of his repertoire of grunts, this one conveying thanks, if Rick was getting any better at translating them. 

“You can slide that seat back if you need to,” he said, letting the subject drop. “I don’t have many people riding over there.”

Daryl nodded and groped down between his legs for the lever to adjust the seat. Rick forced his gaze back on the road, blinking at the sight of the muscular thighs spread apart even for such a mundane task. Besides, Daryl was upset and worried. Rick shouldn’t be thinking about him that way at a time like this.

The seat groaned as it slid back a few inches. Daryl looked marginally more comfortable and the added room provided space for his backpack. He slid it off his lap and pushed at it with his foot, then sank back, his eyes returning to the windshield though he still didn’t appear interested in anything the lights on the highway revealed as they sped down the road. Rick noted that he folded his arms across his chest, his hands still clenched and nervously squeezing at his forearms.

“You hungry?” Rick asked. “Want to stop for some coffee at least?” he added when Daryl shook his head, face stubborn and obviously not wanting to take the time to slow their journey. 

They’d both left what was left of their bottled water at the theater. Rick’s mouth was dry and he could only imagine how Daryl’s must feel. 

“I’ve got some water in the back seat,” Rick told him. 

Daryl glanced toward him, then twisted in his seat to reach into the back. He turned back around a minute later with two bottles. They weren’t cold but water was water, Rick figured. He nodded his thanks and managing to get the lid off while driving, took a long swig.

Daryl just rolled his own bottle between his hands, unopened. 

“We’ve been on the road less than an hour,” Rick said. “I know you’re kinda tense,” _understatement of the year,_ “but we’ve got at least another hour and a half before we get there and drinking some water, even if you’re not that thirsty could help.”

“You tryin’ t’get me to relax?” Daryl gruffed. But Rick noticed that he did at least take a small sip. “Happy now?” 

“Yes. Extremely.” Rick bit down on a smile as he maintained his concentration on the road. 

Next to him, Daryl gave a snort of contempt but when Rick looked at him from the corner of his eye, he noted that the man did look marginally less worked up. 

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and reached toward Daryl. “I’m not sure of the exact directions. Unless you’ve got ‘em down pat, maybe you could check the GPS on my phone.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Just stay on 75 ‘til we get to 16 East,” he muttered. “I’ll tell you the rest when we get there.”

“Okay.” Rick pulled his hand back, letting his phone lay in his lap. He was thinking of another use for it though. “Maybe we can call the Health Services Administrator up there. Sometimes they’ll give you some more information if you ask nice.”

Daryl actually turned in the seat to stare at him. 

“I mean,” Rick went on, nervous under that intense, accusing gaze. “You were upset when you got the call. If you can manage not to use profanity, the Health Administrator might actually give you some information. And if they don’t – you can at least let them know we’re on our way.”

“You sayin’ I got a temper, Grimes?” 

Rick was only half sure the man’s anger was contained. He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road and his face expressionless.

Daryl turned back, seeming to flop back into his seat. “Not exactly good at talkin’ ta people like that,” he muttered. 

“People like – authority figures?” Rick ventured.

“Shit.” Daryl rolled his eyes. “People I fuckin’ hate.”

Rick thought that probably included most figures of authority Daryl had run across in his life, as well as a large number of other people with no authority whatsoever, but he kept that thought to himself. 

“Not sayin’ you can’t keep it together,” he ventured after a moment, “but if you want, I could make the call.”

“What?” Daryl sounded as though Rick had offered to accompany him to the men’s room. He half expected him to start stammering that he could fight his own battles or maybe that he didn’t give a fuck how the prison officials reacted to his rough manners.

“Then again,” Rick went on, hoping his next words would defuse the situation, “now that I think about it, they probably wouldn’t give me the time of day since I’m not a relative. You’re probably listed as authorized to be given Merle’s medical information.”

Daryl said nothing at that, he just nodded, again crossing his arms over his chest. Rick could see, even in the dim lights of the interstate, that his body appeared once again to be coiled with tension. He regretted trying to get him to talk, since it seemed to have done little good in the long run.

“But if you wanta call,” Rick said finally, keeping his voice level and soft, “go ahead.”

“Pfft,” Daryl scoffed. 

“Do you want to try?” Rick asked.

Daryl only shrugged, looking like a petulant kid. “I’ll get the number for you. I’ll go through the information operator and whoever answers up there. Then all you’ll have to do is just speak to that one person who can give you some information. I know when I have to go through all that red tape and computers telling me to ‘press five’ or whatever, it just gets me more frustrated and by the time I get through I’m ready to cuss out the unlucky person who finally picks up.”

Daryl turned to look at him. “You’re tellin’ me that Officer Calm and Collected never gets nasty on the phone? Or about anything?” 

Rick wasn’t sure if Daryl was being sarcastic or just expressing surprise. He supposed that since the man had never seen Rick truly upset, though he had given him reason to get that way in the past, he must think that Rick was some kind of master of rational control.

“You don’t know me well enough,” Rick told him, amusement leaking into his voice. “Ask my ex-wife if you want some details on how _not_ calm and collected I can be. Or maybe the disability board.” With those words, the lightness dropped out of his voice, replaced with grim reality. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, unable to look at his passenger. “I’ve got first hand knowledge of how losing your cool can fuck up your chances.”

“Hmmm,” Daryl shrugged finally. “You don’t even let that Shane jerk get on your nerves.”

“That’s not hard.” Rick took a deep breath, trying to shrug off the memory of his final meeting with the medical board, when he’d not only cursed at being forced to retire but begged them to reconsider. Losing his job had almost been harder on him than losing his marriage. “On a scale of one to ten, he’s about at a two.”

“How’s a redneck throwin’ squirrels at your head rate?” 

Daryl’s voice was unexpectedly soft when he asked that question. Rick had no idea why, despite the man’s insistence that their first meeting was all in the past. 

He thought for a minute, realizing that at least getting Daryl engaged in conversation was keeping his worry at bay. “I guess I’d say that was an eight,” he said at last. 

“Only an eight?” There was something light and teasing in Daryl’s incredulous voice.

Rick glanced over at him briefly. He didn’t look as tense right now, or as pissed off. “Yeah, see I only lose my cool when things go off the scale. You gotta do a lot worse than toss some dead woodland creatures at me for that to happen.” He tried making a joke of it.

There was a moment of silence. “So Merle Dixon’s little brother wasn’t worth the trouble?”

Was that actual hurt in Daryl’s voice? Had it done something to his pride that Rick had essentially ignored what he’d done? 

“Wasn’t that,” he said honestly, unwilling to add to this man’s self doubts over even something that had happened so long ago. “Never had anybody throw dead meat at me before but I know how folks feel when some lawman comes to take family away to jail. I figured it would only make things worse if I arrested you too.”

Daryl gave another one of his expressive shrugs, as if he understood what Rick was saying. 

“And obviously, I didn’t forget it,” Rick said, trying a small smile. “Or the guy that did it,” he added. That sounded a little weird, the way those words had come out, like he’d been trying to flirt.

For some unknown reason, Daryl didn’t seem bothered by Rick’s words or tone, either because he didn’t pick up how it had sounded to Rick’s ears or he truly didn’t mind. Considering how worried about his brother he was, Rick was pretty sure it was the first. 

“I didn’t forget neither,” he said, his voice husky and low. Earnest somehow, as if the admission carried a weight he couldn’t explain. 

Rick couldn’t look at him. He had to keep his eyes trained on the road. The sound of those words alone did strange things to his heartbeat. And what on earth did Daryl mean – if he did mean anything other than just that he recalled the incident?

Rick cleared his throat. “Glad we met the second time in better circumstances,” he managed to say. 

Daryl made an affirmative sound, as if he agreed. He turned to look out the side window, voice dropping so low that Rick could barely heard. “Th-thanks for this,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” he said once again, putting all his sincerity into the statement. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got Merle to worry about.”

Daryl drew in a breath, sounding just this side of ragged. “Always been just Merle and me,” he admitted. “Don’t get favors handed to us. Don’t ask for ‘em.”

Rick thought he could hear the voice of the young boy who was watching a sheriff’s deputy haul his brother away in handcuffs in the statement. It proved his theory about Daryl correct, but he couldn’t say it made him feel good to know that.

He had grown up with a family that cared about him. His father held a job that provided a decent roof over his head and put food on the table. He didn’t have a brother, but nobody in the family had spent time behind bars. But in his years as a sheriff’s deputy he had witnessed every day how those things devastated families. 

He guessed that Daryl was in his mid-thirties now, so he must have only been about twenty five or so the day Rick had walked up to his house to get Merle. For a guy who grew up almost in the woods without much parental involvement – he suddenly remembered that their mother had died nearly twenty years previously – he probably had nobody to rely on save the ne’er do well brother. The prospect of facing the world alone as a twenty-four or -five year old had to have been hard.

He wanted to tell him things would get better, that now Daryl had people like Carol and Michonne and even Rick in his life, but he knew that the man wouldn’t handle such a statement. And while true, it could only come off as patronizing anyway. Now that he thought about it, Daryl had been on his own for a long time and Rick was actually impressed with his managing.

“Friends do favors for each other,” Rick finally commented. “I know we just met, but… I feel like we could be friends.” He gave a quick glance at his passenger, noting a slight shiver that seemed to roll up Daryl’s back at his words.

Daryl didn’t say another word. He just continued to look out the window.

Rick picked up his phone, typing 411 on the keypad, and proceeding to get the number for the Health Services Administrator at the prison. It took awhile before anybody picked up, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering the hour. Still, perhaps due to the accident that had befallen Merle, the Administrator was still here. 

“Doctor Kang,” a brusque female voice answered after another few minutes on hold.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Rick said smoothly, his professional voice coming easily to him. “I’m former Deputy Sheriff Rick Grimes of King County. I have the brother of Merle Dixon here with me and we’re on our way up to your prison tonight. I understand Mr. Dixon is in the hospital ward there.”

“Yes, he is,” Dr. Kang replied. She didn’t sound overly friendly but she wasn’t rude either. “What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Dixon’s brother was told he shouldn’t come up, but as you can imagine, he is concerned about his family member. I’d just like to get your assurance that he will be able to see his brother tonight and I hope you might be able to give him a little more information over the phone at this time.”

“It’s almost ten o’clock,” the doctor answered. “When do you think you’ll get here?”

“Yes, ma’am, I know it’s late. We didn’t get the call to let us know about Mr. Dixon’s injury until after eight thirty. We’re coming up from Atlanta.” He was painfully aware of Daryl’s gaze on him, a combination of derision and impressed approval on his face.

The doctor sighed briefly, sounding frustrated. “Okay. We can allow the visit. The patient is out of surgery by now.”

“That’s good,” Rick said, putting sincere appreciation into his voice. “If you could speak to his brother a second?”

“All right.” Rick looked over at him, smiling encouragingly. “This is Mr. Daryl Dixon.”

He passed the phone to Daryl, hoping things wouldn’t go too badly. “Dr. Kang,” he whispered. 

Daryl took the phone, his face a little lost as worry about Merle re-surfaced. “Yeah, Doc,” he said, making an obvious effort to speak clearly. “I gotta know. Is Merle gonna live?”

Rick waited, hoping the answer would be a ‘yes’ – he didn’t think Daryl could take it if it was anything else. 

He was clutching Rick’s phone in both hands, all his concentration focused on the voice in his ear. “Yeah? Oh. Okay.” He listened another few seconds. “Fu – I mean, wow.” He bit his lip in frustration. “He is? You’re sure?” He looked like he might pass out as he listened for several moments to what the doctor had to say. “Sure… yeah. The main entrance? Right. Okay. Th-thanks.” Pale as a sheet, he handed the phone back. His fingers were damp with perspiration when they brushed against Rick’s.

“Doctor?” 

“Yes?”

“This is Sheriff Grimes again. I appreciate the information. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“He’s not going to be able to stay long,” the doctor informed him. “For one thing, it’s very late and this is unusual. His brother will still be coming out of anesthesia as well.”

“We understand.” Rick told her good-bye and slid his phone back into his shirt pocket. He looked over at Daryl. “That went better than I thought.”

“I didn’t fuck it up?”

“I just meant I wasn’t sure they’d even take the call,” he told Daryl. “What’d she say?”

“They don’t think he’s dyin’,” Daryl said, his voice weak with relief. “But… you know… blood loss… long recovery… shit like that.” He rubbed a nervous hand over his face. “Didn’t say how it happened.” He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Said to go in the main entrance. Tell ‘em at the gate we talked to her.” He glanced up at Rick. “I don’t remember her fuckin’ name – “

“It’s Kang. Dr. Kang,” Rick supplied, keeping his voice as soothing as he could. 

Daryl nodded. “Can’t imagine. His _hand_ , Rick. They couldn’t… put it back. They got shit for doctors in prisons. How can they take the right care ‘a him there?”

“We’ll find out what’s going on,” Rick said, “we’ll advocate for him.”

“Fuck, Rick,” Daryl said, brushing that aside. “I fuckin’ forgot to ask ‘em which hand it is!”

He started shifting in his seat, growing more anxious instead of calmer, leaning forward and then back, shoulders heaving, breath coming in gasps. 

Concerned, Rick glanced at the road ahead, glad to see a rest stop right ahead of them. He put on his blinker and pulled off, gliding into the parking lot. Daryl didn’t even seem to notice.

Daryl was clenching his arms around his stomach, face dripping with sweat, almost worse than when he’d gotten the call at the theater. Rick figured it was hearing more of the details that set him off – and as Daryl’s panic escalated, his own worry did too. 

Rick wasn’t sure how to help him, but he knew he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, just when I said I would probably switch updating to Thursdays, here I am posting this chapter on Tuesday. I think I will just go with "when they are ready" for now.
> 
> In fact, the next chapter will probably be ready soon, and I don't want to keep you wonderful readers dangling any longer than I have to.


	8. We Forgot All About The Civil Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl continue their journey to Georgia State Prison.

Chapter 8 – We Forgot All About The Civil Defense

 

One eye on his hyperventilating passenger, Rick drove into the rest stop parking area slowly, worried about how to help. Thinking that the dimness inside the car wasn’t good, he finally brought it to a stop under a light pole so they wouldn’t be in the dark. He grabbed Daryl’s water and uncapped it, then took what he knew was a big chance and reached to put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.

He paused before touching him though. “Daryl,” he said softly. Receiving no answer, he spoke a bit louder, with as much assurance as he could muster. “Daryl. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

Daryl was still breathing heavily but he glanced toward Rick. His firm tone at least had gotten through a little bit.

“Can I touch you?” Rick asked. “I don’t want to startle you or anything, but…”

With a hitch in his breath, Daryl nodded jerkily. Rick let his hand settle on his shoulder. Despite the warning and his agreement, Daryl flinched a bit and Rick had to wonder just what had happened to cause him react that way. He kept his hand on Daryl’s shoulder, aware of the slight trembling, determined to ease his friend’s panic.

“Here,” he offered the water, “drink some more of this.” 

Daryl took it, averting his gaze again. Rick pressed his shoulder gently and then, as Daryl guzzled water, he stroked the area between shoulder and neck, gingerly, to cause as little distress as possible, yet needing to find a way to comfort him. 

The muscles under his hand were rock hard, strung with tension. As Rick’s fingers squeezed, Daryl gave a little grunt of discomfort. 

“I’m sorry,” Rick said, his hand stilling immediately. “Did that hurt?”

Daryl shook his head. He bit his lip, then answered, “Felt okay,” in a voice that sounded both shy and surprised.

Rick nodded, pleased that Daryl had managed to say that much. “Just relax,” he said softly, continuing his careful massage. Reaching a bit further, he rubbed the back of Daryl’s neck for a moment, fingers sliding under his long, dark hair. He was peripherally aware of how soft and fine the texture of it was, but he kept his mind on the reason he was touching Daryl, to get him to relax, to ease his distress. 

The sound of Daryl’s shaky breathing seemed loud in the confines of the car. He wasn’t clenching his arms across his stomach any more, though his grip on the water bottle seemed tight. His other hand lay on his own knee, fingers splayed tensely. 

“That’s it.” Rick kept his voice at a near-whisper. “Take it easy. It’s going to be okay.”

Rick kept rubbing soothingly along Daryl’s neck and shoulders, feeling the tightness in his muscles lessen gradually. Daryl didn’t relax completely, but after several minutes, Rick could tell that his breathing was steadier. He’d leaned forward slightly, head dropped to allow Rick access. His eyes had fallen shut, the lines in his face smoothing out.

Neither man spoke. Rick didn’t know what to say any more than Daryl did. He realized he should take his hand off the back of Daryl’s neck but he just couldn’t bring himself to. He’d mostly kept his touch confined to fabric, but the tips of his fingers had grazed the warm skin of his neck a few times. And despite the gravity of the situation, Rick’s imagination wanted to focus on the idea that he was touching the other man, if not actually intimately, but certainly in a location that mere acquaintances didn’t usually touch. 

But he couldn’t – shouldn’t think about that. 

“It’s too quiet in here,” Rick said, leaning to switch on the radio, using that as a reason to remove his hand from Daryl’s shoulder without seeming awkward.

Reba McEntire’s country twang filled the car. 

“You fuckin’ crazy?” Daryl scoffed, leaning forward to change the station. He fiddled with the radio, settling on a classic rock station. The Eagles’ “Hotel California” flowed more soothingly into their shared space.

Daryl flopped back with a huff. Rick suppressed the smile at his companion’s impatience with his choice of music. “You don’t like country?” he asked, almost daring the man to get annoyed.

“Shit, just ‘cause I look redneck don’t mean I haveta be a fuckin’ stereotype.” Daryl lifted the water bottle to his lips, leaning back to finish the contents, exposing his throat. When it was empty, he raked the back of his hand across his lips. He fished a red shop rag out of his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow and face. 

Observing the actions caused Rick’s gut to tighten. He took a deep breath. At least it seemed that Merle’s condition wasn’t foremost in Daryl’s mind any more. 

“Better?” he asked, more for something to say than anything else. 

Daryl nodded, lifting his hips to shove his rag back into his jeans pocket, eyes glancing toward Rick. “Sorry.”

“Forget it,” Rick told him. He saw no need for an apology; Daryl’s reactions weren’t anything that anybody else wouldn’t be feeling. He glanced at his watch. “You want anything from inside? We’ve probably got another hour and a half before we get there.”

“Nah. I just want to get there and see what’s what.” Daryl brushed his hair back off his forehead. “Unless you want somethin’?” he amended.

“I’m good.” Rick smiled, relieved that Daryl seemed better. He restarted the car, pulling back out onto the road. With classic rock filling the car, he hoped the rest of the journey would be without incident. 

Rick merged onto I-16 East and covertly watched his companion tapping his fingers on his thigh in time to the music. He would try talking but Daryl wasn’t the type for idle chatter and the subject of his brother would only serve to stress him out more, so Rick figured that the music would have to do as a distraction for the rest of their trip. 

After nearly a hundred miles, Daryl finally spoke. “You wanta take Georgia 57 comin’ up.”

Rick nodded, taking the exit when the sign for route 57 came up. The Rolling Stones were singing “Paint It Black” and Daryl had a fist clenched on his knee. 

“Get on Main Street.” Daryl’s next directive sounded clipped. 

“Guess we’re close,” Rick said, making sure his voice was calm.

“I hate that fuckin’ place.” 

The sentiment was hardly surprising. Rick wasn’t fond of prisons either. He’d had to transport prisoners from time to time and occasionally he’d also had to visit inmates to question them about crimes he was investigating. It had to be worse to go there to visit a close relative. 

“Ain’t sayin’ Merle didn’t deserve to go in,” Daryl said a few moments later. “And I didn’t mind comin’ to visit him. But I don’t think I could deal with bein’ locked up.”

Rick cleared his throat. “You’ve never…”

“Just cause I got a brother that’s done time, don’t mean I have.” Daryl didn’t snap the words. He just sounded resigned when he said them.

“I guess people think… you know, if they know about Merle.”

“Ain’t like I never broke the law.” Daryl found a thread on his jeans to pick at. “But I never dealt drugs or killed nobody.”

“You know,” Rick offered, “I wasn’t thinking about anything like that about you.”

Daryl shrugged. “Most people do. Wouldn’t care if ya did, Rick.”

“I hadn’t thought about it one way or the other.” It was true. Until Daryl had mentioned it, Rick really hadn’t considered whether Daryl had a record or not. Despite his family background, something about Daryl just seemed so fundamentally _decent._

“Couldn’t hack not being able to get outside,” Daryl went on. “I like huntin’. Bein’ on my own.” He brought a hand up to his mouth, biting his thumbnail. “Merle tried to get me involved in some of his shit, time or two, but… end of the day, he didn’t want me doin’ time either.”

Rick hadn’t considered that Merle would be that conscientious of his younger brother. “I’m glad he had your best interests at heart.”

Daryl didn’t respond, but he seemed to be chewing on his nail more heavily. “Never had nobody but Merle,” he said, repeating his earlier comment. 

“He’s going to make it,” Rick said, putting all his assurance into the statement. “And you still have him. Plus, you’ve got friends too. Michonne. Carol.” He took a breath. “And me.”

Daryl closed his eyes briefly, then took his hand down from his mouth. He nodded without looking at Rick. 

The gates of the prison loomed ahead. “I mean that, Daryl,” Rick told him firmly. He turned off the ignition. “You ready to do this?”

Daryl sat up straighter, nodding firmly. “Let’s go.” He opened the door and got out, striding toward the gate. Rick hurried to follow him.

###

Rick stood waiting outside of the infirmary, trying not to glance at his watch. Daryl had been in the room where Merle was resting for ten minutes and they had told him he could stay for fifteen. 

Things hadn’t gone too badly once they’d arrived. When the first guard hadn’t wanted to let them in, even though Daryl gave him Dr. Kang’s name, Rick had been a bit worried. Daryl’s expression had gone deadly and Rick had thought he might have to step in, but Daryl had gained control of himself and politely repeated Dr. Kang’s name, saying they were authorized by her for the visit. Another guard looked over and, hearing what Daryl said, had allowed them to enter the prison. They’d signed in and handed over their I.D.s, then they’d been escorted to the hospital section. 

Daryl had stalked through the halls with squared shoulders, looking like a man with a mission, nothing of the stressed out, worried brother evident in his demeanor. Rick was secretly proud of the front Daryl was able to maintain. Clearly this man wanted none of the guards to realize how scared for his brother he was. 

Dr. Kang herself had met them, along with the surgeon who had attended to Merle, a Doctor Caleb Subramanian.

That’s when Daryl’s control had snapped. He looked antsy, shifting his weight from foot to foot, barely meeting the surgeon’s eyes while he pleaded with him to give him some information. 

“Your brother will be all right, I assure you,” Dr. Subramanian told him easily, “and you can call me Dr. S. if you like.” 

“Whatever, Doc,” Daryl told him curtly, “just spill it.”

Merle had been at work in the machine shop and had gotten his right hand caught in a drill press that had been left out of alignment by another worker. Bleeding, begging for guards to go for help, Merle had panicked and started to use a hacksaw to cut off his own hand at the wrist. By the time the guards and the shop boss had arrived, his injury was so severe that he had to be rushed to the infirmary. Dr. Subramanian could do nothing but complete the amputation to save Merle’s life. 

He had lost several pints of blood and had required a transfusion but the operation had repaired the damage done by the drill press and Merle’s attempts to free himself. Though his hand could not be saved, the doctor assured Daryl that Merle could be fitted with a prosthetic in a few weeks. 

To Rick, the surgeon seemed competent, a pleasant man who in no way talked down to them because his patient was a convicted felon. Daryl, naturally less trusting, had asked numerous questions, and demanded to know the prognosis as well as how Merle would get a proper prosthetic in the prison environment. Why couldn’t his hand have been saved? How much blood exactly did he lose? Did the prison test the blood they used for transfusions? Would Merle be given adequate pain medication? Those had been just a few of his probing questions. Rick was impressed at the knowledge Daryl seemed to have that prompted his in-depth questions. Dr. S. had been patient and not put off even by the tone Daryl used with him, as if he were used to the families of his prison patients being abrupt with him.

Dr. Kang on the other hand exhibited a barely restrained impatience. She spoke of how they planned to investigate the accident and Merle’s claim that someone had tampered with the drill press or at least left it inappropriately shut down. Rick got it, in her line of work, lies were the norm rather than the exception. But Daryl had certainly not appreciated it. 

“We will of course do a full investigation,” Dr. Kang had said, “to determine if the accident was as a result of someone else’s mistake or your brother’s, Mr. Dixon.”

“Merle told you it wasn’t his fault,” Daryl had answered with barely leashed anger. “He knows what he’s doin’ and it shouldna happened in the first place!”

“Daryl…” Rick tried to interject.

“Mr. Dixon -- ” the doctor began.

“He came here to do his time, not come out maimed,” Daryl barreled on. “He ain’t got in no trouble in six years and you know it.” 

Rick, hovering behind him, chanced a brief touch at his shoulder. Daryl whirled and when he saw that it was Rick, he took a breath and visibly relaxed his stance. 

“I’m sure Dr. Kang will make sure a full investigation is conducted,” Rick said smoothly. 

“Of course I will,” the doctor agreed. She nodded at Rick and turned back to Daryl. “We don’t want our inmates to end up maimed any more than you do,” she told him.

Daryl didn’t look happy but he nodded, shifting back and forth in the office where they were standing. “I just wanta see my brother.”

Finally, they had allowed Daryl in to see Merle and Rick was left cooling his heels outside. 

Dr. S. walked over to him. “You’re a former Deputy Sherrif?” There was more emphasis on the word ‘former.’

“Yes. I had to go on disability after I was shot.” As always, there was that twinge of disappointment when Rick said the words.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I was just wondering why you brought Merle’s brother here tonight.” 

“He’s a friend. He was pretty rattled when he got the phone call tonight and I didn’t want him driving here from Atlanta by himself.” Rick paused. “I identified myself when I spoke to Dr. Kang on the phone, sure. But I didn’t misrepresent myself as being on duty. I just have more experience dealing with issues like this than Daryl does.”

The doctor nodded. “I understand.” After a moment he went on. “I had never met Merle before, but I’ve heard he’s quite the volatile personality. His brother must take after him.” Despite the assessment, the doctor’s tone wasn’t overly judgmental. 

“I don’t know Merle that well myself. My contact with him was several years ago, in a more professional capacity,” Rick admitted. “Daryl is a good guy though. He runs his own construction business and has never been in trouble with the law. Put yourself in his shoes – you get a call that your only brother has been seriously injured in prison but you’re told no details and not to come see what’s happening for yourself. You know how families are usually the last to get notified when something like this happens.”

“It was partly due to Merle screaming his head off to notify his ‘baby brother’ that the Deputy Warden made the call,” the surgeon smiled. “He wouldn’t let me put him under until I told him I would make sure his family member was informed.”

“Tough customer, huh?” Rick grinned. 

The doctor nodded. “Most men would have passed out from the pain and blood loss before we could do anything, but Merle didn’t go down easily. He used that hacksaw to cut his hand free because the trustees in the machine shop weren’t listening to his pleas to get help.”

“Wow.” Rick remembered Merle as a big bruiser of a guy with the nerves of a lion tamer and a mouth that would make a sailor blush. He could just imagine the situation unfolding in the prison machine shop. While most such injuries would not rate a call to the inmate’s family, he now knew why Daryl had been informed while the operation was still going on. Obviously, Merle cared as much about Daryl as the younger brother cared about him. It added an interesting facet to the picture of Daryl that Rick had been forming in his mind. 

As a former police officer, loyalty was an important thing to him. He thought Daryl’s loyalty to Merle was amazing and it seemed to go both ways. He wondered what it would be like if Daryl felt loyal to him, to even half that degree.

The door to the recovery room opened then, and Daryl came out. He was pale, looking a bit shell-shocked. Still, he was much calmer now that he’d had a chance to actually see his brother. 

“How’s he doing?” Rick asked. 

Daryl hesitated, pressing his lips together. Before he spoke, he took a deep breath. “Never…never saw Merle like that before, y’know? Hooked up to stuff.” 

Rick could imagine. Daryl had probably never seen his brother looking vulnerable before this and it had to be difficult. The doctor should probably have prepared him more for seeing Merle in his current condition. 

“That kind of thing can be a shock,” he said. Friends had told Rick that he looked pretty scary when they first saw him after the shooting.

Daryl nodded, glancing up at Rick gratefully and then back down at the floor.

“He was able to talk to you though?” Rick questioned. 

“Yeah. Kinda in and out from the drugs, but good. Better’n I expected. Ain’t nobody can kill Merle but Merle.”

“He did come through the operation quite well,” Dr. S. spoke up. “And I will personally make sure that his care is the best we have to offer here.”

He put out a hand toward Daryl, who hesitated, then shook with him. 

“For now though, it’s time you went back home. I’ll make sure Merle is allowed additional phone privileges for the next week so you know how he’s doing.”

“Thanks, doc,” Daryl said, ducking his head as though he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to react or what to say. 

“We appreciate your help and consideration, Doctor,” Rick added, also shaking hands with the surgeon. “Let’s go, Daryl.”

With a shrug, Daryl pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and started off down the hall. Rick smiled at the doctor and turned to follow him.

In only a few minutes, they were checked out of the prison and back in the car. 

“So,” Rick said, turning to Daryl, “Merle seems like he’s going to make it.”

“Yeah.” Daryl heaved a sigh of relief. “Yeah. He was fightin’ to stay awake to talk ta me. But this ain’t gonna get him down. No way.”

“I’m glad, Daryl,” Rick told him sincerely. “And since it sounds like he was the victim of an accident, this might help him secure an early parole.”

“Ya think so, Rick?” The hope in Daryl’s voice was unmistakable.

“I’m no lawyer or expert on these types of legal things, but it’s possible. If I were you, I’d talk to Merle’s attorney tomorrow morning.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. No matter how much they say he’ll get ‘excellent’ care, ain’t no way it’s gonna be as good as on the outside. He needs therapy and shit, and a artificial hand that ain’t just some stupid hook or whatever.”

Rick agreed. “I do think he’s lucky they have that Doctor S. as a surgeon there. Another facility or some other hack might not have done as good a job. Did you know Merle wouldn’t let him start the operation until he agreed to make sure the prison called you to let you know what had happened?”

Daryl paused in connecting his seat belt to look up at Rick. “No shit.” He nodded, half a grin on his face. “That’s my brother for ya.”

Rick put the car in gear, backing out of the parking space. “No wonder you didn’t want me dragging him off to jail.” He glanced over at his companion.

For some reason, Daryl’s expression had completely changed. Instead of looking hopeful and relieved, it had gone distant and dark.

“What’d I say?” Rick asked, stopping the car and taking it out of gear. He turned in his seat so he could give his full attention to Daryl. “I was just kidding.”

Daryl nodded, his eyes on the backpack he’d tugged into his lap again. “He wasn’t always around. When he was, he looked after me. But…” 

Rick just looked at him. From the short time he’d know him, he could see that there was a lot Daryl was leaving unspoken, volumes of hurt, a lifetime of things that didn’t work out, dreams that didn’t come true for a boy growing up different from the rest of the kids his age.

He remembered some of Merle’s history. He’d gone into the army at a young age, probably when Daryl was pretty young. For all his loyalty to his younger brother, there were numerous instances when he’d been out of his brother’s life for years at a time. There had to be a reason for that. Rick wanted to know, because it was obvious that it still affected Daryl so much.

But it was also clear that he couldn’t ask. He didn’t know Daryl well enough to pry and he respected him too much to want to open old wounds. He liked him enough that he didn’t want him feeling pain though. But trust between any two people took time and Daryl was the kind of man for whom trust might take longer than usual.

“It’s okay, Daryl,” Rick said. “Just focus on the present. We all make mistakes and I know whatever’s happened in the past, Merle cares a lot about you.”

Daryl nodded briefly, biting at his lower lip again, looking to Rick more like that desperate young man who had objected so strongly when he’d come to take his older brother off to jail than the older and wiser man he knew now. 

“Let’s stop for some coffee before we leave town, okay?” Rick said, making an effort to change the subject. “I think it’d do us both good.”

“Okay. Good idea. And Rick?” In his diffident, bashful way, Daryl glanced toward him and then away again. “Thanks. This… you driving me up here and… listenin’… it means a lot.”

Rick was touched by the hesitant words, more than Daryl realized and he would most likely be embarrassed if he knew how much. “You’re welcome,” Rick told him, keeping his words to a minimum, his voice serious in deference to his new friend’s earnest tone. 

They had a nearly three hour drive back to Atlanta ahead of them. He put the car in reverse and slid out of his parking space, switching the radio back on once more. 

As they left the prison behind them, the strains of The Beatles’ “Hey, Jude” sent its comforting strains through the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to MaroonCamaro for her beta help and to MermaidSheenaz and Eyeus for some helpful suggestions.


	9. One Of The Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set about a week after Rick and Daryl's trip to the prison to see about Merle's injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for skipping a week updating this story. I think we all know why... both of the last two episodes got me fairly upset. After writing and posting my little prose/poem about the finale, "Last Day's End," I started pulling out of my funk and got my head together enough to write this chapter. It's a bit extra long to try to make up for the delay and I am deep into chapter 10 as we speak so it might just show up before next week! Finally progress on Rick and Daryl's relationship!
> 
> Thanks to MaroonCamaro and MermaidSheenaz as always.

“One of the Arts”

 

 

Things had been going well with the play rehearsals in the last week. They were working on blocking the play, so each actor knew where his character was supposed to be on the stage at any given time and where and when to move. They had also discussed their characters in depth with Michonne. Rick was feeling pretty good about understanding Ken, who had a difficult time making choices and sticking with them and had repeatedly let life push him into things. He’d gone to Viet Nam because he’d been drafted, and while there, lost both legs. He’d been a teacher before the war, but now was conflicted about returning to that profession.

In some ways it was hard to get a handle on for Rick. He usually made a decision and then stuck to it, but he was working out in his own mind why a person might let events propel him the way Ken had. Michonne had given him some good feedback about his portrayal so he was feeling confident about the role.

He was also gaining confidence in his friendship with Daryl. Following the night they drove to the prison and back, something had changed between them. Nothing overt, but it was as if Daryl trusted him now, as much as Daryl seemed to be able to trust. He kept Rick up on any news he had about his brother, who had been able to call him several times since his injury, and seemed to be making a good recovery. They’d gone back to Ford’s to eat a couple of times and Rick had been pleased to show off his new skills with the dart board. He still couldn’t beat Daryl, but he was getting better. Daryl was still pretty closed off and occasionally would just shut down if things got tense. He had opened up to Rick in the car that night, had let Rick see him vulnerable and at first, Rick had worried that it would put a wedge between them. But Daryl had surprised him. He hadn’t acted too embarrassed the next time they saw each other. Rick considered that a win.

As Rick walked into the auditorium late Friday afternoon, he found Daryl already there as usual. He had started building the set and seemed to be putting up some flats that would form the walls of the Talley house interior where act one took place.

“Need any help?” Rick called out as he climbed up onto the stage.

“Hi,” Daryl said, adding a short nod. “I’m good.”

“These look great,” Rick observed. The flats were now just plain wood, but he needed to say something.

“Still need painted,” Daryl mumbled. He put down his hammer and glanced over toward Rick. “You any good with a paint brush?”

Rick moved toward him. “I painted my apartment. Guess you could say it’s one of my skills.” He hadn’t done a bad job, he thought. No streaks, no messy windows. He’d only spilled the paint one time and luckily had been using a drop cloth.

“Hmph.” That seemed to be Daryl’s version of “okay, good.” 

Rick grinned. “Guess I’ll be of some use around here then.”

Daryl made that sound that indicated amusement. “Like you’re not the main character in the damn show.”

Rick looked over at him, noting that there was a trace of admiration in his tone, as though Daryl were somewhat in awe of the role Rick had. He immediately tried to downplay that. “It’s really an ensemble,” he said modestly.

At Daryl’s look, he added, “You know, all the characters are pretty much equal.”

Daryl scoffed. “If you say so.” 

“You like the play?” Rick asked then. Although it was a big part of their day to day encounters, he didn’t really know what Daryl thought of Fifth of July. 

“Guess so.” Daryl was back to concentrating on his work, using a level to line up two flats evenly. “It’s funny.”

“It is that,” Rick agreed. Some of the lines were hilarious, particularly those of kooky Gwen and the way Andrea said them had them all chuckling through their rehearsals. But the play was profound too, making the audience go from laughing one minute to serious contemplation in the next and on to pervasive sadness. The more Rick read and worked with it, the deeper it became to him. 

“You ever get bored hearing us go over and over the same stuff?” he asked of Daryl. He still hadn’t quite been able to wrap his mind around the idea of Daryl working with the community theater when instead he seemed more suited to climbing onto roofs or laying tile flooring or maybe sitting up in a deer blind with only his own thoughts for company. 

“S’okay. You aren’t bored, are ya?” he asked, glancing up at Rick through the veil of his overlong bangs. 

“No… I’m still working on becoming Ken.” Every night he seemed to uncover a new level of the character or figure out a different reading of a line. He was watching Daryl work, his hands moving with assurance, his body bending at hip and knee, then standing up, muscles gleaming as they flexed. “I’m not exactly like him, you know.” 

Daryl’s whole body froze in place for just a moment, as if Rick’s words had given him reason to pause. Rick felt heat rising in his cheeks, realizing how he must have sounded. Like maybe he was trying to say the obvious thing – that Ken was gay but Rick was… and despite the fact that in that way he was a lot like his character, Rick wasn’t really ready to say that openly yet. He wasn’t going to pretend but he didn’t want Daryl to think he was talking about that aspect. He took a deep breath.

“I mean, the way he just let things happen to him instead of deciding and then following through,” he hurried to explain. “I have a hard time understanding somebody doing that.”

Daryl picked up his electric drill and drove a screw that connected two of the flats. At least he was moving again, Rick thought, though he wasn’t sure why he might have stopped. The buzz from the tool ended, and Daryl sat the tool back down, his fingers sliding over the wood, making sure it was smooth. 

“I get it,” he said, his voice just as soft as if he were talking about the set he was constructing. 

Rick stepped a bit closer. “Yeah?” He didn’t want to push but he sensed that whatever Daryl was about to say would reveal something meaningful.

Still bent over his work, Daryl finally continued. “Life can suck, y’know. You got what seems like choices, but they really aren’t. Damned if you do – or don’t. So it don’t matter if you pick, it’s still gonna suck.” He glanced up in that sidelong way he had, without really meeting Rick’s gaze. “And if it turns out worse, you know it ain’t your fault cause you didn’t choose.”

Something tight and achy rose in Rick’s chest at Daryl’s words. He knew he hadn’t had an easy life, but hearing him say those things spoke of pain that probably would never really heal. Choices that really weren’t… Rick knew that his own life had never been that bleak. Sure, he had been shot, been divorced, but growing up, he had what he thought of as real choices – finish school and get a job, or go to college and get a better one, date a lot or settle down, pass the exam, get the pay raise. To think of Daryl having no such choices, having to stare down roads that were little more than dead ends… it hurt Rick in a way he hadn’t expected to feel. 

But they were supposed to be talking about the character of Ken, and Rick knew that it would be better to keep what Daryl had said on those terms. “Like going to Viet Nam,” he mused, “it did turn out badly for Ken, but he isn’t really blaming himself cause he waited to get drafted. And he’s hoping that John and Gwen will choose to buy his house… so he doesn’t have to go through with deciding about teaching.” Rick continued to mull it over for a moment. “Thanks, Daryl.”

“What for?” He had moved to another of the flats that was leaning against the back wall. 

Rick followed him, eyes on Daryl’s broad shoulders. “What you said. Helped me get a better handle on it.”

Daryl grunted, reaching out for the flat and Rick realized he was going to move it over to where he’d anchored the others. Rick grasped the opposite side.

“I got it,” Daryl mumbled. 

“No problem,” Rick said, taking a firmer grip. He watched Daryl and when he hefted the flat, Rick pulled his side up too. It was heavier than he’d expected. Rick realized he hadn’t been doing much physical work in the past few months but it was really only a few pounds of wood though it was large and awkward to handle.

Together, they moved the flat over to the other two that were standing where Daryl had anchored them. 

“Don’t pinch your fingers,” Daryl warned as they eased it close to its neighbor. 

Rick was glad to be able to let go. He stepped back, noting that sweat had broken out on his brow at the effort. Feeling a bit more tired than he thought he should be, he tried to ignore the way his heart seemed to be pounding as he wiped his hand across his forehead. Daryl had his back to him, working away at joining the new flat to the others. 

Suddenly, pain slammed into Rick’s chest. He withheld the gasp that tried to escape, pressing a hand to the center of his chest, thinking it was a twinge that was going to go away in a second. He’d had slight chest pains from time to time since the shooting and every now and then he experienced tightness in his chest and fatigue. But this – it wasn’t going away. It wasn’t lessening. 

Rick leaned over, putting his hands on his knees, trying to breathe through it. But it was hard to catch his breath. He coughed. His heart felt like it was beating too hard, too fast. The pain was sharp, stabbing. Rick slid to his knees, groaning. Maybe if he laid down, he thought, the floor of the stage looking suddenly comfortable to him.

“Rick? Rick!” 

Opening his eyes was hard. It was taking all his concentration to breathe. But Daryl’s voice was compelling. Rick looked up, squinting from the overhead lights.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl looked worried. Rick was kind of worried too. 

He couldn’t answer, so he just clutched at the middle of his chest, trying to indicate what was going on. The pain was like a machete had struck deep inside him. He was gasping, sweating profusely. 

“Let’s sit you up,” Daryl was saying. Rick felt one strong arm slide under his shoulders, while the other gripped his waist. He didn’t want to sit up, he wanted to stay down, hoping the pain would stop, but Daryl pulled him up to a sitting position, helping him to lean forward once he was up.

Like some kind of miracle, the pain began to ease. He was able to catch his breath too. Almost. He found himself clutching at Daryl’s forearm that was braced across his middle. 

He still could barely speak but he managed to gasp out, “Call 911.”

“Hell with that. Drive you there faster.” Daryl looked up. “Hey, Glenn!” He yelled so loud that Rick flinched. 

Pounding footsteps mounted the stage. “What’s wrong?” Glenn sounded worried. 

“Gotta get him to the hospital,” Daryl gritted out. He sounded urgent, in charge. 

“Don’t you think we should call –“ Glenn started.

“Don’t want to wait,” Daryl insisted. Rick had closed his eyes, savoring the air coming more easily into his lungs. He felt Daryl lean into him, voice just at his ear. “We’ll get you up.” The words were gentle, Daryl’s breath ghosting over Rick’s lobe, such a contrast to the way he’d been barking out his words to Glenn.

As the pain faded, Rick was starting to feel embarrassed. “I can…” His words cut off as he attempted to get his feet under him. Glenn had taken up a position to his left and with Daryl on his right, the two of them began helping him up. 

There was more movement and noise. Rick realized additional people had rushed up. 

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Shane asked. “You working on that last scene without me?”

Rick knew he meant the pivotal moment in the second act when Ken fell backwards and if he hadn’t been so dizzy with pain and shortness of breath, he would have laughed. Leave it to Shane to break the tension with a reference to the script. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Daryl snarled the words at Shane, his grip on Rick tightening. Over his shoulder, he saw Shane roll his eyes but he took a step back too.

“Rick?” Michonne was there, her hands on either side of his face. “You sure we shouldn’t call an ambulance?”

He turned his bleary gaze toward Daryl. The man’s face was like a storm cloud, belligerent and determined. 

Michonne followed Rick’s look. “Daryl, I agree that driving him would cut the time in half, but an ambulance will have equipment…”

“The doctor said I could have pains like this,” Rick said in a rush. His head was clearing now that he could breathe and feel something more than the pain. He scrabbled at his belt for his phone. “My doctor’s number is on speed dial. Number one.”

Michonne plucked it from his fingers and Shane joined Daryl and Glenn as they helped Rick off the stage, maneuvering him into a seat in the front row. Daryl stayed at his side, sitting heavily next to him and Rick could feel the intensity of his regard the whole time he spoke to his doctor once Michonne had gotten him on the phone.

He described his symptoms and the doctor told him to meet him at the hospital. Relieved that the physician didn’t think they needed to call 911, Rick handed his phone back to Michonne and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Breathing was easier that way. He felt a hand settle between his shoulder blades and realized it was Daryl’s.

It was decided that they would take Shane’s car. Michonne didn’t want to let Rick go without her, so Glenn volunteered to stay behind and let the rest of the cast know what was going on and that their formal rehearsal was called off for the night.

Daryl helped Rick up when they were ready to leave. By that time, Carol and Beth had arrived and the two of them stationed themselves behind and on Rick’s other side, guiding him as Daryl navigated up the aisle. 

The pain had receded and Rick felt a little ridiculous at the fuss everyone was making over him. But it was still there, on the periphery of his consciousness, a deep and unrelenting ache. It wasn’t as overwhelming now, but he still knew it was something not to be taken lightly.

As they stepped outside, Philip and Andrea were coming up to the door. Rick had the impression the tall actor was looking on a bit disdainfully as Michonne told them they didn’t need to stay. “We’ll run some lines,” Philip decided for both of them. “No need to waste the trip.” Rick felt no compulsion to apologize for inconveniencing him. 

“Feel better, Rick,” Andrea called as she passed by on her way inside the theater. 

They piled into Shane’s big Toyota Highlander, Daryl carefully easing Rick into the back seat and following him in. Rick got the feeling that Daryl would have preferred to drive but his motorcycle wasn’t the right vehicle for the trip. 

“You guys are lucky I just traded in my Camaro,” Shane told them patting the hood of the gleaming sliver vehicle. “That car could only hold four people at most.”

“Shane, do you ever know when to quit talking?” Michonne said, sounding as if she were gritting her teeth.

Carol got into the back seat with them, patting Rick’s shoulder as she looked him over with a critical eye. 

“Your color’s coming back,” she pronounced. Rick hadn’t realized he had gotten pale but he didn’t comment. Breathing was taking all his energy. When Michonne and Shane were settled in the front seat, Shane backed out of his parking spot and headed down the road.

“Watch the pot holes,” Daryl ordered. 

His voice sounded funny, Rick thought. So much more decisive and in control than his usual diffident tone. Rick decided that when he felt better, he would contemplate why. 

There wasn’t much talk as the car drove the fifteen minutes to the hospital. Only Carol seemed to feel the need to speak, reassuring Rick occasionally, her soft voice soothing Rick’s nerves. Halfway there, the pain started up again, from the low ache to the heavy stabbing he’d had on the stage and he winced, leaning forward with a hand to his chest.

He sensed Daryl turning toward him and then, dimly, Carol’s voice. “He’ll be okay, Daryl. We’re almost there.” Daryl seemed to expel a heavy breath but the hand he’d put on Rick’s forearm didn’t let go.

When they got to the emergency entrance, Daryl bolted from the car, dashing though the automatic doors and reappearing in moments with a wheelchair for Rick. 

“I can walk,” Rick tried to demur. 

“Use the chair,” Carol told him. “I’ve seen that look on Daryl’s face before.” 

Glancing up, Rick noted Daryl’s glowering expression again and he reluctantly climbed into the chair. With Daryl pushing, they headed inside while Shane went to park the car.

Daryl rolled him right up to the emergency desk. “Gimme your wallet,” he asked, bending over Rick.

Rick dug in his back pocket and handed it over, confused for a moment until he realized that Daryl was extracting his I.D. and insurance card for him, taking over so he didn’t have to deal with the woman at the desk. 

A dark haired nurse came up, reaching for the handles of the wheelchair. Daryl turned on her, his eyes flashing. 

“Sir,” she said, her voice authoritative. “I’m just going to take him in the back. Are you family?”

Abruptly, the aggression faded from Daryl’s face. “No.” He ducked his head, pressing his lips together. The shy man Rick was more familiar with was back. 

“Let’s go, Mr. Grimes,” the nurse said, “your friends can wait out here. Dr. Stookey is on his way.”

Before he could say anything else, Rick found himself being whisked toward the emergency exam area. He glanced back; Daryl was watching, but his whole demeanor had changed. He was shifting back and forth, hands clenched at his sides. His face was like a little boy whose teacher had bawled him out in front of the class. The last thing Rick saw as his chair turned a corner, was Carol taking hold of Daryl’s arm and saying something to him.

In the back, two different nurses got him changed into a gown and hooked him up to monitors and took his blood pressure and temperature. In minutes, Dr. Stookey strode into the curtained area and picked up his chart. The older of the two nurses was at his side.

“So, Rick,” he said, his easy voice calming his patient. “Chest pains, huh?”

“Came on all of a sudden,” Rick told him. He was still having trouble speaking through the pain. 

“Let me take a listen.” Stookey stepped up to him and pressed his stethoscope against Rick’s chest. He was quiet a moment, then glanced at the remaining nurse. “Just as I thought. I can hear pericardial rub.” She made a note in the chart, then informed the doctor that Rick’s temperature was elevated.

“Rick,” the doctor said then, "I’m going to do an EKG but I’m pretty sure this is pericarditis. The damage to your heart when you were shot made you susceptible. It’s painful but it can be managed.”

Rick just looked at him. He wanted to talk but he was almost too exhausted to follow what was being said.

Dr. Stookey put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s when the sac around your heart is inflamed. This looks like an acute case, rather than chronic, so I don’t think it’s going to require hospitalization. I’ll probably be able to send you home as soon as we complete some tests and this will resolve in a day or two.”

Relieved by the doctor’s words, Rick endured the tests and the waiting. He wanted to text Michonne and let his friends know what was happening but he could see three signs saying not to use cell phones. It was almost two hours later when he told one of the nurses to let them know he was about to be released. 

Moments later, Carol was tapping at the door to his cubicle. “Can I come in, Rick?”

“Sure.” He was sitting on the side of the bed, pulling his clothes out of the big plastic bag they’d been put in.

“Feeling any better?” She stepped into the tiny room, looking at him as if to assess his health.

“Yeah,” Rick nodded. “They gave me something for the pain. Doc wants me to take a couple days off rehearsals, stay home and rest.”

“That’s good. We’ve all been worried.”

“Sorry,” Rick said immediately, “I wasn’t able to get word out to y’all till now.”

“Don’t worry about that. We all know how hospitals work.”

“Yeah. Can’t say I enjoy having that knowledge myself.” Rick picked through his clothes and lifted his shirt from the pile. 

“Need any help?” Carol wanted to know.

Rick blushed. “I think I can manage. You can wait outside and if I need you I’ll just holler.”

“Okay.” Carol winked and stepped back out so Rick could get dressed. 

His nurse returned and had him sign papers, then told Carol he was ready to leave. She pushed him back into the waiting room where Shane and Michonne were seated in chairs. Daryl was pacing by the windows. 

“We’re back,” Carol called out gaily as if they’d just been out shopping. Both Michonne and Shane got to their feet and Daryl, instead of moving toward Rick, just seemed to freeze in place, farthest away. 

Rick explained that the doctor had diagnosed him with acute pericarditis and that after the injury to his heart from the shooting it wasn’t unexpected. With rest and ibuprofen, he should be feeling better in a couple of days.

“That’s good news, Rick,” Shane told him, offering his hand. Rick shook it, smiling in return. Michonne leaned down to hug him, her eyes bright with relief. Daryl took a couple of steps closer, but otherwise seemed to prefer to stay in the background.

Shane hurried off to go pull his car up. While Michonne took over pushing the wheelchair, Carol kept up a positive conversation and as they moved toward the exit, Daryl brought up the rear.

This time, Rick was urged into the front seat of Shane’s Highlander. Carol, Michonne and Daryl climbed in the back, with Daryl behind Shane. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Rick glanced back and noticed that Daryl was staring out the window, biting at his thumbnail.

Rick wondered what was wrong with him. Maybe it was being at another hospital after Merle’s accident at the prison. Or maybe he was just feeling awkward after having taken charge earlier. He did sort of look embarrassed, Rick decided. It was hard to tell with Daryl looking in the opposite direction. Rick could just make out a furrow between his brows and his face looked flushed. He looked about to try to jump out of the car and make a break for it every time Shane stopped for a red light.

Rick wished he knew what was wrong. He was such a hard guy to get to know and he certainly wasn’t the demonstrative type even with people he counted as friends. Rick hadn’t expected the show of concern much less the leadership Daryl had shown when he’d been overcome with the stabbing pain. Daryl had really seemed like he was worried about him when it had all started. Now, it was almost like he wished he hadn’t come along with the group to take Rick to the hospital, like he wished he were anywhere else but this car full of people. 

Yet Rick was so exhausted, he couldn’t really puzzle it all out anyway. When they reached his apartment complex, it was Michonne and Shane who helped him out of the car. The whole group escorted him to his apartment door but only Michonne and Carol went inside with him. Shane let him go with a friendly pat on the shoulder, wishing him a good night’s rest. Rick wasn’t surprised at that, but he was when Daryl didn’t cross the threshold either. He hung back with Shane, staying by the door. Carol and Michonne tried to make sure Rick had everything he might need, though he insisted he was fine and was going straight to bed. Michonne opened his fridge and pulled out a bottle of water which she handed to Carol who followed Rick down the hall to his room. She put it on his bedside table, gave him a gentle hug and told him she was happy he was going to be okay. 

“Leave the door unlocked, would you?” he asked her, figuring if he did need to call anyone to come over, it would be easier if he didn’t have to get up to let them in. “Thanks, everybody,” he called out. He had wanted to make sure to thank Daryl especially but now it would just have been awkward.

He heard the voices of Shane, Michonne and Carol responding and saying good-bye. If Daryl spoke at all, his voice was too soft for Rick to have heard.

As he sat down on the bed to pull off his shoes, Rick suddenly remembered how Daryl had looked, awkwardly framed in his doorway, staring at the floor.


	10. You Got Sweet 'n Low?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress -- and then a roadblock. Reticent Daryl brings some surprises to Rick.

“You Got Sweet ‘n Low?”

 

Rick woke the next morning feeling marginally better than he had the evening before. He could tell the pain medication Dr. Stookey had given him at the hospital was worn off and he figured he needed to take some ibuprofen that he had in his medicine cabinet. 

He got up slowly, unsure how he was going to feel once he got mobile. So far, so good, he decided as he sat on the side of his bed. He had stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt last night, so he shuffled over to his dresser and dug out an old pair of sweatpants he hadn’t worn in ages. Lori had always hated them and had threatened to toss them in the trash many times. Sliding his legs into them, he was glad he hadn’t thrown them out when he moved. Despite their having been washed so many times they were nearly threadbare, they were even softer than he remembered, perfect for lounging around the house while he rested up. 

He didn’t bother tying the drawstring, but let the pants hang off his hips as he padded down the hall to the bathroom to take a leak. He threw some water on his face and brushed his teeth, then dug out the thermometer he had in the medicine cabinet. He checked his temp and found it had gone down from 101 F. to 99 degrees this morning. His doctor told him that he could return to play practice when his fever went away and all the pain was gone. He grabbed the bottle of Advil from the cabinet, then moved slowly to the kitchen. 

He took a deep breath as he ran water to fill his coffee maker, noting how much easier it was to breathe this morning than it had been last night. He started his coffee and got himself a bottle of water from the fridge so he could take his Advil.

He didn’t feel like eating breakfast, but he poured his coffee into his World’s Greatest Dad mug and stirred in some sugar, carrying it and his water bottle into the living room. He sank down on the couch and used the remote to turn on the tv set, then stretched out and pulled his afghan over himself. 

He sat there nursing his coffee, switching channels as he tried to find something worth watching that wasn’t about politics, the weather or local crime. Sometimes he was able to watch the stories on murder or robberies with some interest, missing his old job but without that loss bothering him, other times, like today, he just couldn’t tolerate it. Here he was, unable to continue the career he had loved, unable to work at any real job and sidelined by chest pains. Watching video of other cops rushing to crime scenes was more than he could handle this morning.

Having collapsed in front of Daryl last night really bothered him, too. Rick hated looking weak in front of people; it reminded him of how that weakness had been his wife’s excuse for leaving him. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t fair of her and that she’d just used it as an excuse instead of admitting she wanted out. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less though. 

Ruthlessly, he punched his remote, bringing up Animal Planet, which was showing an episode of “Too Cute,” the show with nothing but tiny puppies. He watched with determination, trying to breathe regularly, stay calm, and not _think._

Of course, telling himself not to think about Daryl was like being instructed not to think about pink zebras. The more he tried to evade the subject of his crisis last night, the more his mind ran over it. Embarrassing as it was, Daryl’s reaction had been nothing short of amazing. Not only had the usually reticent man stepped up immediately, his concern had been palpable. Rick had been in too much pain to really focus but he knew Daryl had put his hands on him easily, both to assess Rick’s state of distress and to comfort. Daryl, who shied away from being touched, who Rick hadn’t seen voluntarily touch anyone before, had touched _him_. He’d helped him sit up and hadn’t withdrawn his hands instantly. He had kept a firm hand on Rick pretty much the whole ride to the hospital too. And contrary to his usual modus operandi of hanging in the background, Daryl had barked out orders, gotten a wheelchair and even dealt with the registration desk. He’d been completely unrecognizable from the shy, socially awkward man Rick was acquainted with, at least until that nurse had come to move Rick to the exam area. 

Afterwards though, he was back to the guy Rick was more used to, the uncomfortable, self-conscious fish out of water that had gone with the group to the restaurant that first night of auditions. It was as if Daryl had realized how out of character he’d been from the moment Rick fell to the stage floor and been overcome with embarrassment. At the theater, with people he knew, he’d been confident and in charge, but at the hospital, a place where he couldn’t possibly have felt comfortable, one word from an authoritative nurse and he’d reverted to the backwoods clumsiness with which Rick was more familiar. It was almost as if he felt he had no right to be there much less acting worried about Rick’s condition. As physically close as he’d been on the way to the hospital, he’d stayed as far away from Rick as he possibly could during the return trip. Yet he hadn’t gone so far as to leave on his own before Rick emerged from being treated. Despite not actually asking Rick how he was doing, his eyes had followed Rick’s every move, every word exchanged between Rick and the others. He had stayed away, but remained agitated, unable to stand still, as if a part of him wanted to hover close but was mortified by his previous reaction. 

It both fascinated and endeared him to Rick. He had appreciated how Daryl had helped when the chest pains had overcome him and felt bad about how he had seemed like a chastised interloper afterwards. Rick wished there was something he could have done to ease his new friend’s discomfort but just like that night on the road to the prison, he instinctively realized that there was a lot that he didn’t know about him, that the barriers Daryl seemed to hide behind were vast and apparently painful and Rick could only help in the most superficial of ways. 

Yet, even that night when Daryl had been beside himself with worry about his brother, Rick had managed to do _something_ , however slight, to help him. And afterwards, he had thought the walls were coming down at least a little. 

Now, he wasn’t so certain. Rick would have to be sure to thank Daryl personally the next time he saw him since the man hadn’t even crossed the threshold of Rick’s apartment last night. But in doing so, would he embarrass him even more? Probably he would shrug and mumble, chew his thumbnail and make that “pfft” sound as he tried to act like what he’d done for Rick had been nothing. Rick knew he couldn’t make a big deal out of it, no matter what he did. He figured he’d just bide his time and wait ‘til there was a moment where Daryl seemed comfortable and he’d bring it up casually, say thank you and then move on. Just as he had no intention of ever letting on that he thought Daryl was good looking, desirable and that Rick had feelings for him, he could never reveal that – now that he wasn’t doubled over in pain -- the knowledge that Daryl had touched him and been so obviously worried meant more to Rick that the other man would ever know.

The muscular arm that had slid beneath his shoulders had been just as strong as Rick had imagined, the firm and calloused fingers that had clutched at his waist and rested on his bare, sweaty arm had been warm and reassuring. Rick thought that if those fingers were ever to caress his skin they would feel just like that, rough but gentle, confident and in charge, strong enough to make everything all right in Rick’s world.

And his eyes – stormy, anxious, yet hooded so that Rick still wasn’t sure of their color despite Daryl’s concerned expression. They might not be brown, he’d decided recently, but he still hadn’t gotten a decent look. For all Rick knew they could be anything from hazel to steely gray because as intently as Daryl had been looking at him, they had skittered away if Rick had so much as attempted to meet Daryl’s gaze head on, even last night when he was hurting the most. But the emotion in them had been the one thing that Daryl couldn’t hide. He would be a formidable opponent to anyone who tried to harm someone he cared about, Rick had realized. His gaze had been full of protective fire that hinted at the depth of caring that Daryl hid behind the social skills of a guy who had few friends and little experience in the world, and made Rick wish he had a chance in hell of seeing what Daryl would be like if he ever unleashed the passions concealed behind that ratty leather vest with the incongruous angel wings he loved to wear. Just as his desperate anger and anxiety at the news of his brother’s injury revealed a deep love for his sibling, Rick was able to imagine the lust that might be unleashed if Daryl ever…

No, Rick thought, putting the brakes on that train of thought. For all he knew, Daryl Dixon would never even look him in the eye, much less want him. 

Forcing his thoughts off that subject, Rick grabbed his script off the coffee table, flipping to Act Two and deciding that even if he couldn’t go to rehearsals for a few days, he still could work on his lines. They were supposed to go off book at the end of the week and he didn’t want to come back to the theater unprepared. 

After studying his lines for a few hours, Rick spent the rest of the day dozing on his couch, taking Advil and drinking water. He was exhausted even though he had barely moved around and by five o’clock his temperature was going up along with his pain level. It wasn’t quite as crushing as it had been last night, but it was throbbing and unpleasant and pushed Rick farther into depression. He realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day, but he was too uncomfortable to even think about making a sandwich and the idea of microwaving one of the frozen meals he had sounded like a fate worse than death. 

He was just about to open the drawer of his coffee table where he kept a few take out menus when a knock came at his front door.

“It’s open,” he called out listlessly, remembering that he’d told Carol not to lock his door last night. He wasn’t even that curious to know who had knocked. Probably Carol or Michonne or maybe one of the neighbors he barely knew.

The door opened part way only. A second or two passed. Rick would have called out but he was too tired. 

“Rick?” a raspy voice, uncertain and yet laced with worry, on the other side of the door told him who his visitor was. 

Rick’s mood brightened immediately at the pleasant surprise. “Come on in, Daryl. I’m alive.”

Daryl pushed the door the rest of the way open, and stepped in. He was carrying a large brown paper bag but he made it no further than just inside. He closed the door behind him, then hesitated as if once he had gained entrance, he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“It’s okay,” Rick said, making sure his voice was non-threatening, not that he understood what would be intimidating about coming to see him, especially since Daryl had initiated the visit. “Come on in.” He’d already said that of course, but it felt like the words hadn’t actually penetrated Daryl’s brain.

Daryl looked over the top of the bag he was carrying. “How’s it goin’?” he asked. There was something earnest and almost fearful in his voice though it was obvious he was trying not to let that show. He might have been greeting Rick at the theater on any day of the week. Or he might have been trying really hard to conceal the fact that he was still worried about him. There was no way to tell for sure.

“I’m okay. I guess,” Rick responded. “Better than last night. Not really normal yet though.”

Behind the shelter of his bag, Daryl nodded as if processing what Rick had said. He moved from side to side but came no farther forward.

“You don’t have to stay over there by the door,” Rick said, bemused by his friend’s awkwardness.

Another nod and then Daryl strode forward with determination, as if stepping into vastly unfamiliar territory. He thrust the bag toward Rick. “Thought ya might be hungry.”

Now that it was this close to him, Rick realized that a delicious aroma was coming from the mysterious bag. “I’m starving,” he admitted, mouth already watering. “Is that from Ford’s?” He couldn’t keep the hopeful anticipation out of his voice.

“Yeah.” Daryl sounded almost sheepish, as if the gesture wouldn’t have been welcome. 

Rick tried not to make a big deal out of it, figuring that would make Daryl feel even more uncomfortable. But the truth was, he was extremely touched and he couldn’t keep his emotions out of his voice.

He sat up straighter and opened the bag Daryl had deposited on his coffee table. “Man, thank you! Barbeque burgers and those sweet potato fries I like!”

There was an abundance of food in the bag, along with a couple of cold cans of Coke, napkins and plastic forks. 

Daryl shrugged one shoulder. “Asked Carol first, if the doc said anything about stuff you shouldn’t eat.” 

Even more amazing, Rick thought. Daryl had not only been thoughtful enough to bring him food, he had even checked to make sure Rick hadn’t been told he had to have nothing but broth and jello. The guy might be socially inexperienced, but nobody could fault his kindness. 

“There’s a ton of stuff in here,” Rick said, still surveying the bag. “I hope one of these burgers is yours.”

The anxious look fell off Daryl’s face as if he’d been uncertain whether Rick would want the company. He ducked his head. “Long as you don’t mind.”

“’Course I don’t,” Rick said softly. “This place is usually like a tomb. And after last night, having somebody to talk to would be really nice.” He pushed the afghan back and moved to get up. “I’ll just grab us some plates.”

Daryl held up a hand to stop him. “I’ll get ‘em. Just tell me where.”

Rick sank back down. He pointed to his left to indicate the whereabouts of the kitchen, though since the room actually opened right off the living area its location was obvious. “First cupboard above the sink.” 

Daryl hurried toward the kitchen and Rick began extracting items from the bag. There were four wrapped burgers and two orders of plain fries along with two of the sweet potato ones. There was a large side salad and a package of ranch dressing, a couple of Styrofoam boxes held hearty slices of apple pie and there were some snack-sized bags of chips too. 

Daryl came in with a plate for each of them. He handed one to Rick but stayed on the opposite side of the coffee table. 

Rick glanced up. “Sit here,” he offered, moving the afghan out of the way and nodding toward the opposite end of the couch. 

With another nod, Daryl did as Rick requested, leaning forward to help himself to a burger and some fries. Rick filled his own plate, also opening the salad and scooping some next to his fries. “You want some of this?” he asked Daryl, though he’d never seen the man take a bite of anything green any of the times they’d eaten together. 

Daryl, who already had his barbeque burger up to his mouth, shook his head no. 

“Allergic to vegetables?” Rick asked, unable to resist teasing him a little. He opened the packet of ranch and squeezed a liberal amount onto his portion of salad.

Daryl chewed and swallowed, then answered. “Fries are vegetables,” he murmured, shoving a handful past his lips. Rick could see the little smirk that the food couldn’t quite hide.

“Oh right,” he nodded. “Fries are a food group all on their own.”

“Damn straight.” Daryl popped open one of the cans of Coke and took a swig. 

“No Mazurt tonight?”

One of Daryl’s shoulders lifted briefly. “Nah. Figured I’d stick to Coke too.”

Even that was nice of him, Rick thought. 

“Plus,” Daryl went on, “Mazurt’s for bars, restaurants and shit.”

“So in your own living room you drink…?” Rick asked, chewing on some of his own fries. 

“Corona,” Daryl said with certainty. “Bud once in awhile when I can’t get Corona Extra or when I’m broke.” 

Rick closed his eyes, remembering. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice smooth Corona Extra right now.” He couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of his voice, his current situation making him feel like he’d never be normal again.

“Pshhh,” Daryl scoffed. “Don’ go thinkin’ like that.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Daryl put his burger down to look right at Rick. “Way I see it, you’re down right now, but you’re not out of the game at all. Just a little set back.”

“I wish that was true.” Even the prospect of Daryl’s gaze being fully on him couldn’t lift Rick’s mood at the moment. His chest twinged as if to remind him of how much he’d lost since that bullet had plowed into his body leaving the destruction of his life in its wake. He put his burger on his plate and sat the plate on the coffee table, glancing down, not wanting Daryl to see the hopelessness he knew must be on his face. He didn’t want the man to think he was that much of a basket case or that he didn’t appreciate the dinner he’d brought. He _wanted_ to at least try to explain how he was feeling, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could sense was a huge lump in his throat and the pain that was threatening to really start making itself known again. 

He put his hand to the center of his sternum, swallowing hard and trying to relax so it wouldn’t get overwhelming. 

“Rick?” Daryl’s voice had that worried sound to it again, like last night, only softer. Like he felt Rick’s hurting was somehow his fault. He deposited his own plate on the table and edged closer.

Rick shook his head, as much to attempt to dispel his emotions as to convey he wasn’t in need of a doctor. He glanced at his wristwatch and realized it had been five hours since his last dose of ibuprofen. 

He took a breath to make sure his voice would come out even when he spoke. “Hand me that Advil, would you?” 

Daryl grabbed it from the coffee table but instead of just handing Rick the bottle, he uncapped it and shook some of the capsules into his palm. “How many you need?”

“Doc said I should take four,” Rick managed, remembering that he’d been instructed to take eight hundred milligrams every four hours and his were only two hundred each. He reached out and Daryl dropped that number of them into his hand. While Rick put the medication in his mouth, Daryl solicitously picked up his Coke and passed it to him. 

Rick swallowed, the painkillers tasting bitter on his tongue. He hated the way his emotions were all over the map – one minute he’d been teasing Daryl about not liking vegetables and now he was a mess. 

“Sorry,” he muttered after a moment. “Didn’t expect to get like that over talking about beer.” 

“S’okay.” The gruff voice at his side was soft and low, understanding. “You put up with my shit when we went to see Merle.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw Daryl’s hand lift, hesitate, and then descend to land on Rick’s forearm. Warm, steady, freely offered – the touch was more soothing than Rick could have imagined. It would be okay with him if Daryl let it rest there for the next hour or two.

He closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply. 

“That’s it. Take it easy. Just let the pills work,” Daryl murmured, his voice patient and hypnotic. “You were eatin’ awful fast there.”

“I was _hungry_ ,” Rick said trying to joke. 

“Probably haven’t eaten all day, right?” 

Of course Daryl was right. How was he so perceptive? Rick wondered, then he remembered how Daryl had declined any offer of food on their drive to the prison and hadn’t even been enthusiastic about the pancakes and eggs he’d ordered at a diner on the way back.

“Wasn’t up to eating before now,” Rick told him. “And then I wasn’t feeling well enough to fix myself something. I was just thinking of ordering in when you showed up.” His eyes moved from Daryl’s hand on his arm to the man’s face. “Glad you did.”

Those diffident eyes darted away, too shy to make contact or accept Rick’s thanks, but Daryl kept his hand on Rick all the same. His fingers squeezed almost imperceptibly, as if in answer when looks and words failed him. The contact seemed to seal something between them, Rick thought, absurdly happy that Daryl was touching him. He blinked at the realization that all it took to lighten his mood was that simple touch of Daryl’s work roughened hand. 

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Rick’s eyes on his own hands clasped loosely between his knees. He wanted to say something but for the life of him, he didn’t know what. Anything he could think of was either too sappy or embarrassing or would be guaranteed to make Daryl let go and leave. But he could feel the trust flowing between the two of them nevertheless. He felt warmed by it, the way Daryl letting him rub his back at the rest stop that night had made him feel. His pain was easing up too, maybe more than he could attribute to the recently swallowed Advil.

Eventually, as he knew it must, the moment had to end. Daryl let go of his arm, shifting position. Rick blinked, sorry at the loss, his forearm feeling cold where Daryl’s heavy hand had held it. The guy was probably embarrassed from the contact and would be moving away from Rick now, not that he was surprised. 

“Eat your food,” Daryl said, his voice kind of hushed still. 

Instead of taking back his hand and retreating into his own space however, he simply moved it to Rick’s shoulder. Slightly in shock, Rick felt the little pat Daryl gave him as the man leaned forward to pick up Rick’s plate and offer it to him. 

Rick nodded, unable to speak. He took a deep breath and picked up his half eaten burger. 

“Take it slow this time,” Daryl reminded him, his hand squeezing Rick’s shoulder, then continuing without changing position, sort of rubbing where it held him. The gesture was awkward, unpracticed, but no less genuine.

Rick felt a tingle run down the entire right side of his body at that. He had a crazy impulse to lean toward Daryl and beg him to rub his whole back for him. Instead he took a bite of his burger. It hadn’t gotten cold, still tasted good to him. 

He chewed and swallowed the small bite. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said, managing a smile.

Daryl made one of his agreeing grunts, took his hand away and picked up his own plate again. 

They finished their food as they usually did, without need for conversation. Rick ate his entire burger and half of his fries and salad, then plopped his mostly empty plate on the coffee table, nudging the bag with it. “There’s still a ton of stuff in there.”

“Leftovers for tomorrow,” Daryl responded. “Plus dessert.” He pulled one of the Styrofoam boxes out and offered it to Rick. 

“No, thanks. Not right now.” Rick was full. Even though he hadn’t eaten all day, he still didn’t have his usual appetite. In fact, if Daryl hadn’t shown up, he might not even have ordered food at all from any of the menus in the drawer. He already knew he hadn’t had a taste for Chinese or Indian or even Italian but that burger from Ford’s had been just the thing. 

Daryl took the second box of pie out of the bag, then rolled the top closed on it. He put his own serving next to Rick’s on the coffee table, then shifted the bag toward the far side of the table. As he moved it out of the way, it bumped the clunky pottery ashtray Carl had made.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Daryl said, eyeing it with some surprise.

“I don’t. My son made it for me at summer camp and I didn’t have the heart to stuff it in some drawer.” He grinned at the oddly shaped, lop-sided, greenish purple thing. “Ugly, isn’t it?”

“Ain’t that bad.” Daryl shifted on the couch, his hand going to the pocket of his vest. “You mind if I – ?”

Though he wasn’t a fan of smoke, of course Rick didn’t mind. He was glad the ashtray would see some actual use after all this time. “You could open that window in the kitchen though,” Rick said. 

Daryl got up, strode toward the window on the far wall and shoved it up a few inches. Then he lit his cigarette and stood in the kitchen, taking a few drags, making a show of waving the smoke out the open window. His goofy movements made Rick smile.

“You’re quite the comedian, Dixon,” he said, chuckling.

“Don’ wanna foist my second hand smoke on ya,” Daryl said, pretending to be solemn. He took a last puff, closed the window and then marched back into the living area, stubbing the cigarette out in Carl’s ashtray. It rocked noisily back and forth as if protesting being used for its actual purpose since Carl hadn’t been any more capable of making it smooth on the bottom than he had been at sculpting the ashtray into a supposedly rounded shape. There were three indentations where cigarettes were supposed to rest, not one of them the same size as the others. After crushing out the one he’d smoked, Daryl picked it up and carefully positioned it in one of the little troughs as if he intended to come back and lite it up again at some point. “There. It’s broke in proper now.”

Rick couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll be sure to let Carl know.” A image of the pride on Carl’s face as he presented his masterpiece upon his return from camp came to Rick then and he leaned over to stroke the hideous thing with his forefinger. “He thought it was the best damn ashtray a kid ever made. Said it was the most fun thing he did the whole time he was away at camp.”

Rick turned his smile toward Daryl, only to find an odd look on his friend’s face. “What?”

“Never went to camp,” Daryl said shortly, adding a shrug to the statement. “Not a real one. Spent a lotta time in the woods though.”

Rick realized that his assessment of Daryl’s childhood was at least somewhat accurate. There had been no camp, no Boy Scouts or little league. 

“Got lost one time,” Daryl said, leaning back as if planning to stay awhile. Rick couldn’t say he minded. 

“You did?” he tried to encourage Daryl to talk without wanting to seem to be too curious. He was picturing a day out in the woods turning into nighttime before Daryl finally found his way home. “What happened?”

“Was just playin’ at first,” Daryl said, a half-smile on his face at the memory. “Was pretty warm and all. But then I got lost. Real lost. Got cold during the nights.” Daryl’s smile faded, his expression going flat.

“Nights?” Rick could barely get the word out past the realization that it was plural. “You were lost for… days?”

“Nine of ‘em,” Daryl said as if the number wasn’t anything much. “Nobody even realized I was gone, I guess.”

Rick’s heart felt like it had plummeted into his stomach. He couldn’t say a word. 

“S’just my father home at the time,” Daryl went on. “Merle was in juvie and mom was already dead.”

So his own father had not noticed or cared that his young son was missing for nine whole days. Rick suppressed a shudder. “How old were you?” he finally asked, his voice nearly hoarse.

Daryl paused as if thinking a moment “Eleven, I guess.” He considered a little more. “Yeah, eleven. Got a hell of a case of poison oak on my backside using the leaves for toilet paper.” He grinned as if that was funny somehow. “No way I’d ever not recognize poison oak now.” 

Rick swallowed. “Guess not.” 

Daryl rubbed a hand over his face and sat forward again. “Finally started seein’ familiar trees and such and found my way back. Walked in the kitchen and made myself a sandwich.”

Rick closed his eyes, then opened them again. He shook his head, marveling at the story, at Daryl having survived such an experience. Early in his career, a kid of about ten had gotten lost in the woods of Kings County and the entire Sheriff’s department along with hundreds of volunteers had spent three days searching for him. The little boy had been found at the bottom of a ravine, dead. 

“Daryl,” he began slowly, “I don’t…”

Daryl shrugged a shoulder, glancing at Rick from under his bangs. “I got survival skills.” 

Rick released a breath and nodded at him, trying to look on the bright side. “That’s an understatement. I’m a grown man and I’d probably get lost fifty feet into the woods from the highway.”

Daryl huffed a laugh. “City boys.” 

“Hey,” Rick protested. “I could learn.” Silly as the statement was, it gave him a sudden inspiration. “Maybe that’s what I should do. Take up wilderness survival or hunting or… something.” Daryl was studiously looking the other way. “What? Are you laughing at me?”

Daryl’s broad shoulders straightened and he turned back. “Nope. Why would you think that?” He tried, but failed to disguise the mischief in his tone. “But hey, if you’re serious, I could take you out. After the play’s over. We could hunt. Or fish. Maybe just camp or… somethin’.” His voice trailed off and he looked embarrassed by having made the suggestion. 

Rick, stuck on the concept that Daryl envisioned seeing him once the run of the play was finished, hastened to try to ease Daryl’s discomfort. “That’d be great. I’d like that a lot.”

Daryl swallowed, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. “O-okay,” he said without a glance in Rick’s direction.

There was another moment of silence during which Daryl still appeared anxious. He shifted on the couch, finally reaching for the bag from Ford’s. “I’ll put this stuff away for you. Don’t want it goin’ bad.” He grabbed their used plates and napkins too, heading once more toward the kitchen. “You need anything before I go?” Rick heard the refrigerator door open and close.

“Don’t feel like you have to rush off,” Rick called to him. “It’s nice having some company.” He could tell that Daryl was getting antsy though. Unless he had something to do, he didn’t seem to like staying in one place for very long. 

He desperately tried to think of a way to get Daryl to stay, if only for a little while longer. He’d suggest watching something on tv but that would just mean more sitting. Then he had an inspiration. “We could play some darts.”

Daryl had moved back into the living room area. “What? We’re not goin’ out, Rick.”

“We don’t have to.” Rick stood up, tugging his loose sweat pants up, and walked the few steps toward the hallway on the right, pointing. On the door of his hall closet hung the dartboard he’d bought and had been practicing with.

Looking confused, Daryl moved closer and followed Rick’s gesture to look down the short hall. His mouth dropped open, then he shut it again quickly. Still staring at the board, he said, “You said it had been a long time since you played.”

“It was,” Rick said, grinning. “I was so bad at it that first night that I figured I needed to practice more -- if I was ever gonna get good enough to really give you some competition.” He paused, thinking about Daryl’s response. “Did you think I was lying, trying to reel you in and then start winning money off you?”

Daryl pressed his lips together, dipping his head a moment. He shifted from side to side. “No. Maybe just for a second.” He took a step closer, so that he was only a foot or so away from Rick. He glanced up through the hair hanging over his eyes. “I… you…” He looked puzzled, pleased. And something more that Rick couldn’t define. His body leaned forward, emotion seeming to roll off him and towards Rick.

Rick smiled, touched that Daryl seemed touched. Or however he was feeling at the revelation. He was a little embarrassed though. It might seem weird to Daryl that Rick had wanted to spend more time with him. He opened his mouth to try to give an off hand explanation, if he could even come up with one.

At that moment, Daryl Dixon closed the distance between them, his hands landing on Rick’s hips as he pressed his warm mouth to Rick’s slightly open one. 

Rick had only a second before he realized what was happening, a second in which he finally got a full on view of Daryl’s eyes. They were blue, a beautiful, honest blue like the Georgia sky on a cloudless summer day. In that second, there was no reticence in them, no hesitation or confusion. All Rick could see was earnest, intense focus as Daryl’s eyes homed in on him, finally revealed, more gorgeous than Rick had even imagined, more intent and open and _wanting_ than Rick had ever thought they possibly could be. 

He wanted to keep his own eyes open, so he could drown in the power of that dazzling blue gaze, but Daryl pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, his lips softening and summoning, and then Rick really was drowning, his eyes falling shut so he could concentrate on sensation. He kissed Daryl back, his open lips an invitation that Daryl answered and when that slick, strong tongue slid into Rick’s mouth he thought he just might die on the spot. It was so _good_ to be kissed like this, not only so unexpectedly but with such authority and such tenderness. 

Rick felt weak, his head starting to spin as his legs turned to jelly. He felt no pain but he leaned into Daryl just as he had the night before, just as unable to walk or talk as he had twenty-four hours earlier but for a much better reason.

He could feel Daryl’s rough fingertips against the skin over his hip bones, aware of how his loose sweat pants had slid down, glad he hadn’t tied them tighter, almost wishing they would simply drop the rest of the way down his legs. Daryl’s touch felt hot, branding his tender skin, coaxing desire from Rick’s wounded body. If Rick lived to be a hundred, he knew he would never forget the way Daryl’s hands felt on him there.

He moaned, leaning more fully against Daryl, trying to figure out what to do with his own hands. He felt Daryl’s tongue in his mouth and boldly met it with his own, his hands reaching up to latch onto Daryl’s shoulders. For an endless moment, their long, slow, incredible kiss continued. Finally Rick pulled back, having realized he had forgotten how to breathe. 

He drew in air, letting go of Daryl’s shoulders as he tried to regain his equilibrium. 

“Daryl…” 

The hands that had been gently gripping his waist suddenly fell away. Rick’s eyes opened.

Daryl’s eyes were blue, and he wanted to look into them again.

Daryl’s eyes were blue. 

And wide with anguish. 

Mortification. 

Alarm.

Daryl stepped back. 

His hand lifted to his mouth and for one insane moment Rick thought he was going to wipe Rick’s kiss off his lips. 

He shook his head, hair falling over his eyes and obscuring his expression. His hands clenched. He looked around, gaze darting around the apartment, anywhere but at Rick.

“Daryl?” Rick said, confused and disappointed. He reached toward the other man.

Daryl flinched, harder than he had at any time Rick had seen him flinch before. 

“Sorry,” he blurted, the word coming out sounding broken, half way between anger and despair.

Daryl turned, as if he couldn’t stand to have Rick looking at him. He paused for an instant, the longest second of Rick’s life, and then strode without another word to the door. He flung it open and stepped out, shutting it behind him with a sound like the end of the world.

Rick stood where Daryl had left him, unable to think, to process what had happened. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t follow, couldn’t call Daryl back or even know if he should. 

Rick stood right there where Daryl had left him for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now of course, Rick has to figure out what to do next. Let's hope he can reach Daryl.
> 
> Thanks to MaroonCamaro as always for her beta advice. And to MermaidSheenaz, my muse.


	11. Slight Cerebral Disturbance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well -- after what happened last chapter, it's high time we see at least a little of what's going on in Daryl's head, isn't it?

_Slight Cerebral Disturbance_

 

Daryl Dixon stormed out of the apartment building and climbed onto his bike, his whole body trembling with reaction. He tried to ignore the way his legs could barely hold him up and how his heart was pounding; all he wanted to do was escape. Get on his bike and rev it up and ride away into the night where Rick Grimes – where _nobody_ \-- would ever see him again.

He had completely lost his fucking mind. He knew that. Had known it was slipping away for a couple weeks now. But the crazy feeling had been so seductive, had felt so damn good, that he had let it carry him along, making him do stuff he never did.

It was like how meeting Carol in the prison waiting room, knowing she’d been hit by the husband she was waiting to see, had brought out protective instincts Daryl thought had been beaten out of him years ago. It was like how the no-nonsense calmness of Michonne had worn him down with praise for his woodworking skills to get him to help out around the theater. So that he was looking after Carol after her bastard of a husband had gotten knifed at Georgia State, even babysitting her kid from time to time, and listening when she talked about how strange it was to be on her own and free now. He got that much – with his old man in the ground and Merle away, Daryl was free too. His construction business was going okay and he felt good when he could fix a roof or put in a new set of cabinets for someone, like he was worth something after all. And if he hung out at the theater every day he wasn’t working and in the evenings when the others rehearsed their lines, so what? He was a grown man, he could pick and choose what he did with his time. 

Daryl halted his bike at a stop light, heart pounding, eyes misted over in anger at himself. He wanted to drive right through that light – maybe a semi would be accelerating toward the intersection, green light no reason to slow down – but he didn’t want to die. He just wanted a reason to drive like a bat out of hell, evade that semi bearing down on him the way he wanted to avoid what he’d done at Rick’s. 

He waited though, ‘til the light changed, and he followed the speed limit, mostly, until he got out of town and headed for the country roads that would lead him home. Then he cut loose, flying along, heedless of signs on the road telling him to keep to fifty-five, heedless of the tingling in his lips that was still there, minutes and miles after he’d made his escape.

Crazy. That was it. He’d lost his mind.

Going out to restaurants with people who’d eaten in them all their lives, that was crazy. It was one thing to get a burger and a beer at a place like Ford’s, but fancy places made him feel like he was a wild animal somebody had chained up in their yard. Having that teenage girl, Beth, look at him like he was some hero or something, that was crazy. He could handle the looks and the comments from guys like Shane and Philip – he’d taken shit from rich bastards all his life. But meeting someone like Rick Grimes and going one on one with him to eat or to kid around with playing darts – that felt crazy to Daryl. He’d never really done things like that. He didn’t make friends. The few he had, like Carol and Michonne, were women. They were less judgmental about him in the first place. And they were both safe because they didn’t want anything from him except what his strong arms could provide. Being friends with a man like Rick Grimes, that wasn’t just crazy. It was fucking science fiction.

Finally, the lights of civilization were gone and he was enveloped by the familiar darkness of the forest. He lived in a little house as far outside of town as he could get, right on the edge of the woods he’d grown up hunting. He knew every tree, every deer trail, every rock. It was his home as much as the house he had built almost from the ground up with his own two hands. It was his sanctuary, the one place where he felt comfortable, at peace, without conflict or pain or fear. 

Daryl brought his bike to a stop behind the house, killed the engine and climbed off. He headed inside, but, without the wind beating against him as he rode, the walls felt like they were closing in on him. He turned on a light, cringing in the sudden brightness, his need to hide was so great. Daryl turned it back off again and made his way to the kitchen, feeling for the fridge. He opened the door and pulled out a Corona Extra, twisting off the cap and drinking half of it in one gulp before he heard Rick’s voice in his head, wistfully saying he’d give anything to be able to enjoy a beer again. Daryl poured the rest of his beer down the sink, deciding he needed something stronger anyway.

There was a bottle in the cupboard, one that Merle had left behind, Evan Williams Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey. Daryl didn’t drink heavy and rarely straight up, but he held the bottle to his lips and let the burning liquid pour down his throat. It wasn’t enough to erase the feel of Rick’s lips against his own, or the taste of the man’s tongue in his mouth. 

Rick’s mouth had tasted of barbeque sauce and surprise, old pain and new desire. His lips had been soft at first, open and pliant against Daryl’s, following his lead, firming with acceptance, allowing his tongue inside, meeting it with his own, like some dream of perfection Daryl had never allowed himself to have. Rick’s hips under his hands had been firm and feverish, smooth and taut, living skin under strong bones and Daryl had never known how hungry his hands could be, how they craved someone to hold, to pull close, how his mouth had been starved for a kiss like this. 

_Followed my lead…_ Daryl shook his head in consternation, never having directed a kiss in his entire life. The very idea was so foreign to him that he half thought he’d imagined it. He’d started the kiss on pure impulse, as unable to resist as if Rick had been a tornado pulling Daryl from the ground. He’d looked so rumpled, so sexy, with his hair curling in every direction, his bare feet poking out from under the hems of his pantlegs and his t-shirt barely covering his stomach. And oh, the way those sweats had clung to his hips, hinting at the treasures beneath them. Daryl, already dizzied by the idea that Rick had bought his own dart board just because of _him_ , had taken one look at the man and let go of all the caution and restraint of a lifetime. Rick had been standing before him, his full lips half open as if about to speak, and Daryl had just done what at that moment felt natural. 

He touched. He kissed. And Rick let him. That was beyond crazy, Daryl thought, taking another slug of the whiskey. After the first second passed and Rick didn’t punch Daryl’s lights out, something had beckoned him on, and he’d deepened the kiss, using his tongue to explore Rick’s mouth, caressing the soft skin over his hip bones with fingers that half an hour earlier had been clumsy when they merely touched Rick’s cotton covered shoulder. 

Stranger still, Rick had _returned the kiss_. Or maybe, now that he was half drunk, Daryl had just imagined that part of it. Did Rick really slide his own tongue into Daryl’s mouth? Did he actually lean into him, put his hands on Daryl’s shoulders as if he were drowning and Daryl was his only chance at not going under? The whole time it was happening, Daryl’s world had collapsed in on itself. The man who was aware of the softest sound in the woods, who could see paw prints a week old and follow them, had lost all awareness of the rest of the universe in those brief moments of uncontrolled desire. He had poured a lifetime of need into that kiss, had been so lost to everything that Rick’s response could have a dream. 

For the life of him, Daryl did not know where he’d gotten the courage to do it – just like he didn’t know why he’d been able to take over when Rick had collapsed at the theater. He had no right to tell people what to do, to be in charge of situations. He’d been told often enough that he had no right to even exist, hadn’t he? 

The walls were closing in on him, just like the ones in the old house he’d grown up in, the site of so much pain and degradation. It wasn’t the first time those feelings had followed him here, as if he wore them like the scars on his back and in his soul. Daryl gripped his bottle tighter, picked up the crossbow he used for hunting, and staggered out into the night. He tromped into the woods, finding a tree he had slept in often when the nightmares came, climbed up into the comfortable “v” formed by its old, wide branches and settled down. 

Yeah, he’d done what felt _natural_ all right. What felt natural -- that he’d been told was the most unnatural thing in this world, any time his brother had caught his teenage eyes checking out another boy. What felt natural was supposed to be love and kindness from your father, not beatings simply because you had been born, until what felt _natural_ to Daryl Dixon was the antithesis of tenderness, until any kind of touch was abhorrent to him, even if it was a simple pat on the shoulder. 

He still flinched at any unexpected hand reaching toward him. Just like he’d flinched away from Rick’s when he’d broken the kiss they’d shared. God, that must have really thrown Rick. He had to think Daryl was totally fucked up, first kissing him without even asking and then jerking away from his hand like that. Rick had no way of knowing how many times a touch that had seemed gentle at first was followed by a blow it had become second nature for Daryl to pull away. Daryl had managed to mutter a ‘sorry’ but even he wasn’t sure whether he meant to apologize for the liberty he’d taken or the flinch. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was for everything.

Daryl finished off the bottle and tossed it far into the woods, holding his crossbow in his arms. His body throbbed with the heat of the whiskey, chilled by the breeze that was picking up, the bow cold comfort in place of Rick’s warm body that had been, for one insane moment, so close to him. He dozed, the whiskey doing little to dull his thoughts, and when sleep drew him deeper from the present, it pulled him into his past.

_He was eighteen, in Atlanta proper doing his construction apprenticeship with Dale Horvath. It was the first time he had been on his own and away from home, away from Merle and away from the house he’d grown up in that held so many bad memories. His father had died a year ago and Merle had come home to “look after” Daryl, though that mostly consisted of sitting around the house high or drunk but at least he wasn’t like their father. Merle usually just passed out instead of turning his anger on Daryl. Not that Merle was especially nice but he did care about Daryl at least._

_But being away from home and the county he grew up in meant Daryl felt free for the first time. Dale was kind and a good teacher. The other guys on the crew, all of them just learning the business too, were okay. They didn’t judge Daryl just on his name and if they thought he didn’t fit in, at least they didn’t give him a hard time. He’d been winning street and school yard fights since he was twelve, so Daryl didn’t worry if he had to defend himself from some city guy thinking he was better. Anyway, construction was about as blue collar as it got so nobody in Dale’s crew had grown up rich anyway._

_It was a Friday night. They had cashed their paychecks and gone out for pizza and beer, Daryl tagging along although he’d only gone out with guys Merle’s age, usually. He felt grown up. Dale wasn’t stingy with praise for his work and with money he had earned himself in his pocket, Daryl felt normal. Like maybe he really could move on from his father’s abuse and the shack he grew up in and have a real life._

_There was one guy on the crew that he got along with pretty well. Carlos was his name. He wore a blue bandanna over his long curls to keep the saw dust out of it. When they all left for the bar, Carlos had taken his bandanna off and let his curls go wild. He had dark brown eyes that looked right into Daryl’s when they joked back and forth. It had taken Daryl awhile, but he was able to look directly at Carlos when he spoke to him. The other guy never knew what an accomplishment that was for Daryl, nor did he know about the crush Daryl had developed. Merle had made it clear his baby brother better not be queer, but that didn’t stop Daryl from wanting… something. He didn’t think he would ever be normal enough to have one special person in his life, but his body had a mind of his own. A flash of bicep or a nice ass and Daryl would get hard in his khakis. And when Carlos laid those big brown eyes on him, his mind went blank – all his inhibitions threatening to just evaporate – so that being able to **feel** seemed the most important thing on earth._

_After they finished their pizza, they played pool at the bar for hours. Daryl lost count of how many beers he’d had but he still had money in his pocket so he wasn’t worried. Besides, Carlos had bought the last two rounds._

_Later still, Carlos was whispering in Daryl’s ear. He wasn’t sure what his friend meant – his accent got stronger when he drank – but Daryl nodded anyway and then Carlos had ahold of his arm and was pulling him toward the back entrance of the place._

_Carlos shoved open the back door, leading Daryl out into the night. The street lights were all on the other side of the building; out back it was dim and cozy, like the woods Daryl knew so well back home. There was a shed where the trash barrels were stored, but they were all out in the alley right now, being used for the garbage the customers produced, so Carlos dragged Daryl into the little enclosure._

_“What -- ?” Daryl questioned, his own voice slurred and anxious._

_Suddenly, Carlos was shoving him back, pressing against him, groin to groin and he felt the other guy’s erection through his jeans. Daryl got hard instantly. There was a lot of heavy breathing and groping hands and then Carlos got on his knees and put his mouth on Daryl, sucking him, out of the smelly back alley and into paradise. He used his hand on Carlos and it was amazing to feel his friend seize up against him, humping into his hand and rubbing their chests together._

_They’d finished and were tucking themselves away when the door banged open and the bar owner came out with some trash bags. They tried to be quiet but a light came on and the owner’s harsh voice rang out. “Hey, get outta here you damn faggots!”_

_Daryl and Carlos slipped out the other side of the enclosure, running down the alley toward the street. At the mouth of the alley, they went in opposite directions. Monday morning came and Carlos wasn’t there. Dale said he’d dropped out of the program. Daryl never saw him again._

_It kind of hurt. He’d liked Carlos. And though it had been the other guy’s idea maybe he couldn’t handle what they’d done. Maybe it was being yelled at by the owner of the bar and called ‘faggots’ that got to him. Daryl had been called much worse in his life. He felt bad, ashamed, but he’d already felt so much shame for just being in the house when his father came home drunk, it was almost the same._

_There were other guys, but he never knew their names… he just found them somehow. In other bars, that usually only had guys for customers, in the occasional alley or rest room. No names were exchanged. There was only furtive coupling, getting off as fast as possible, no foreplay or afterglow. No kissing. Only rubbing and sucking and heavy breathing._

_A flash took him somewhere else, a dimly lit room, the place the guy he’d met had taken him to, his apartment or something. He pushed Daryl back against the wall by his bed and humped into him hard, eventually pushing Daryl down to his knees. With one hand, the guy unbuckled his own belt, and with the other he pulled Daryl’s t-shirt off over his head. Daryl had flinched at the sudden movement, trying to grab back his shirt._

_“What’s the matter, you jerk?”_

_Daryl was half turned and the guy saw what his back looked like._

_“Fuck, that’s awesome,” he declared, voice breathy with anticipation. “You like getting hit in the sack, babe?”_

_Daryl managed to grab his t-shirt back and stormed out of the apartment without looking back._

_One night, he’d been with some blond dude, both drunk on their asses, lingering a little longer than they should have in the washroom of a bar Daryl didn’t know the name of when the door crashed open. It was the bouncer -- the blond managed to get away from him -- but the bouncer got Daryl good. He was face down on the dirty floor, getting punched in the kidneys, kicked in the ribs. He slid into that other place he used to go when his father got on him real bad._

_He was being dragged down the steps and into the front room, shirt ripping as he was pulled along by brutal hands. “Stupid… worthless… faggot… queer… loser…” The words ran together, in different voices that sounded all the same in Daryl’s head. The fists hurt. He got a black eye, bruised kidneys…._

_He was home… the house he grew up in. It was his father. Just his father now. He’d chased him down, shoved him to the floor. The belt snapped and clanked as it was yanked out, swishing through the air then cracking against his back, the buckle cutting deep. It went on an on and on until his father’s arm got tired and Daryl lay silent on the floor, face shielded by his arm, mind as far away as he could take it. His father tripped as he went to step over him and that made him mad all over again. He spat out a curse, and then Daryl felt the cigarette being stabbed against his shoulder. He screamed…_

He woke up, nearly falling out of his tree. Gasping for air, his back stinging like the wounds were fresh, Daryl hung on to his bow, shaking from the nightmare. He’d had it too many times to count. It always came if he was too tired or something had happened. It came even when he was having good dreams, few as they were. He kept his eyes wide open, and gradually the shapes of trees came into view, the trees and the stars overhead his only companions. It had been a long time since he’d dreamed of Carlos. Or any of the others…

Dale hadn’t liked how Daryl looked at work the next morning. Told him if he ever showed up with bruises from a bar fight again, he’d kick Daryl out of the program. 

Daryl didn’t get in any more fights. Never hooked up again. He’d had enough. It was no good. He was due to go home in two weeks anyway, back to Merle’s sloppy guidance and threats not to look at boys. Not to bend over, not to be no bitch for any man. Merle was so shrewd, Daryl worried he’d look in his eyes and know what Daryl had done. Merle might kick him out, kick his teeth in the way he’d been threatening for as long as Daryl could remember. And even if he was eighteen and could get a job and all, he didn’t want to lose Merle. Couldn’t. Merle was all he had.

Finally, as the morning rays were just beginning to peek over the horizon, Daryl drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

###

Daryl eventually got cold and, even though he felt slightly hung over, he decided to come inside. He walked back in through the kitchen door, crossed to the sink and turned on the cold water faucet. Sticking his head under the stream he gulped water for several minutes until his head began to clear, then he turned the water off and shoved his damp hair back off his face. In the light of day, he felt a little less upset than he’d been last night. Still, he wasn’t ready to face what had happened. He glanced at the time. It was eight thirty five. That gave him about eleven hours until he was supposed to be at the theater. Actually, since he wasn’t working today, he would ordinarily have gone over early to do more on the set. He knew Rick wouldn’t be there today but Daryl would see him in every seat in the auditorium, every plank on the stage, every unpainted flat. He wasn’t ready. He’d call Michonne, make some excuse and see if he could deal with it tomorrow. Or the next day. 

His head was aching, most likely from the whiskey he’d had last night. So was his back. Sleeping in a fucking tree might have a little to do with that too. Combined with the nightmares, he guessed it was no wonder his head was pounding. He checked the cupboard but there was nothing there. His thoughts flashed to Rick asking him for the bottle of Advil on his coffee table. Daryl chewed on this thumbnail, annoyed at the way his thoughts kept coming back to Rick no matter which way he turned. 

He headed toward his bedroom where he stripped off his clothes and let them drop to the bed, then made for the shower. Maybe some hot water would warm him up and help his throbbing head too. Naked, he went into the bathroom and twisted the faucet in the shower, knowing how long it usually took for the water to heat up. He rifled through the medicine cabinet, again not finding anything for his headache. 

When the water was hot, he climbed into the shower, just standing under the spray for a few minutes, letting it ease the aches in his shoulders and back. Then, he leaned back, getting his hair wet, feeling the water stream over his neck – where Rick had rubbed his shoulders and last night, where he’d grabbed them – and drizzle over his face. He grabbed his shampoo and lathered his hair, keeping his eyes shut tight to keep the suds out of his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on just getting his hair clean, visions of Rick’s face kept flashes behind his eyelids. His sheepish grin as he pointed out the dartboard, the pride on his face when he joked about his son’s ashtray, the surprise in his eyes when Daryl cautiously came through his door, the eagerness when he found his favorite barbeque burger in the bag from Ford’s. He liked seeing the man happy – especially after seeing that face contorted in pain the evening before. 

Daryl rinsed the soap out of his hair and leaned against the wall. A twinge centered in the area of his chest that felt like it was reflected back to him from Rick had him pressing his fist to his sternum. When the man had gone down that way… one minute Daryl had been working his electric screwdriver and the next the noise of the man’s knees hitting the floor had broken through the whirring sound. He’d turned around just in time to see Rick drop down on the floor, flat on his back, his face white as a sheet, brow furrowed in pain, coughing instead of breathing. Daryl had simply acted – everything was so much less important than Rick in those moments. 

He’d been trying to put his finger on how Rick made him feel for weeks and the only word that had come to mind was nervous. It made Daryl nervous when someone talked to him. He didn’t have much use for idle conversation anyway but when someone stood close like Rick tended to do, and acted like stuff Daryl said might be important, the way Rick seemed to hang on to Daryl’s every muttered word, that made him extra nervous. It also made Daryl nervous when someone looked at him – and he had noticed that from the start. Rick Grimes had a way of looking at Daryl like few people ever did. He tried to pretend he wasn’t, Daryl knew that, but he hadn’t let on that he knew what Rick was doing. Which was easy because Daryl had spent a lifetime not showing he knew things or picked up on how people reacted to him. It was just better that way – unlike Merle, he didn’t punch anybody who looked at him funny. It was better if people thought he wasn’t as smart as he was, made it easier to just drift in the background and not get noticed.

But his nervousness was forgotten when he saw that Rick had collapsed. Every second of what had happened from the time Rick fell until they got to the hospital was imprinted on his brain, tattooed indelibly into his memory. 

His nerves came back at the hospital, when that nurse looked at him like he’d broken in to shoplift the ragged magazines people read in the waiting room. He had still been concerned but had stayed out of the circle Michonne, Carol and Shane sat in, unable to simply wait and too stressed to just sit down. But when Rick came out in that wheelchair Carol was pushing, looking wan but breathing, Daryl still had been unable to go to him. He was mortified by his previous actions, taken aback by his display of concern. 

Carol had given him a look after they’d dropped Rick off. She hadn’t said a word, wouldn’t in front of Michonne and Shane, but with her eyes she tried to tell Daryl it was okay, he hadn’t done anything wrong, but even her kindness wasn’t enough. She had said to him, after the trip to see Merle, that it was nice that Daryl had made another friend. “Rick’s a good guy,” she had said. “You could use another friend.” He’d scoffed and Carol’s response had been to shake her head knowingly. “It’s okay to be friends,” was all she had said. 

If she’d only known. 

Carol knew enough about him to understand that he was a solitary man. That friendship wasn’t something that came easily to him and she’d been quietly encouraging him to open up. 

He remembered her quiet words in the car. “Don’t worry. He’ll be okay.” As if she knew he cared. Daryl smirked, soaping his body under the shower stream. He cared all right, though he was sure she had no idea how much. 

Daryl ran his hands over his body, absently noting how slick they felt with the lather. Images of Rick floated in front of him, sensations chased their way down his chest to his groin. He gave up and wrapped a hand around his filling cock, wondering how long it had been since he’d jerked off. A long time, but even longer with thoughts of a specific man in his head. Or even the idea of an imaginary man. But now _Rick_ was in his head. Nothing but Rick and half forgotten desires, needs Daryl had repressed for half his life.

Rick’s lips, so full and sweet, connecting with his own. Rick’s hips, barely covered by the soft material of his sweatpants, allowing Daryl’s fingers to clutch at them. Rick’s tongue, welcoming Daryl’s into his mouth, playing with Daryl’s shyly. Rick’s body, leaning into Daryl’s, warm and heavy as if he knew Daryl wouldn’t let him fall. Rick’s hands, clutching at Daryl’s shoulders, holding on, not pushing him away…

Stars burst before his eyes as the pleasure pooled in his groin sped up his spine and down his legs. Daryl’s hand worked harder, tighter, and then he was coming, Rick’s name on his lips, imaging it was Rick’s body under his.

He turned the water off and climbed out, legs trembling. But his mind was clear, his memory, reliable. Last night, drunk and hiding in that tree, he had thought he’d imagined Rick returned his kiss, that Rick hadn’t been pissed off or trying to reject him. 

But Rick had liked it. 

_Rick had liked it._

Daryl looked at himself in the steam-fogged mirror, slicking his hair back from his face. Okay, that much was certain. Rick had liked it. Still didn’t mean Daryl knew what the fuck to do now. 

Distantly, he could hear his phone ringing. He’d only gotten his cell for the business and he contemplated ignoring it, not wanting to talk to some customer who probably just wanted a new deck built. But then again… if it was Rick?

He stomped into his bedroom and fished his still ringing phone out of his pants pocket. 

It was Merle.

“Yeah?” He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

“Hey, baby brother,” came the well-known voice. “Guess what? The screws gave me an early Christmas present. They’re lettin’ me go! Doc says I’m healed up enough to be released from the hospital, lawyer came in to tell me I’m released from the can too! When can you drive up in that heap you call a truck and pick me up?”

Daryl closed his eyes, knowing the days of his life and his time being his own were over. It was probably for the best. 

“That’s great, Merle. Soon as I gas up, I’ll be on the road.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MaroonCamaro for the beta. To MermaidSheenaz. And and Eyeus too.


	12. Vacant as a Jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to Rick's POV to see how he's doing since Daryl left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MaroonCamaro for the beta on this chapter as always. And to MermaidSheenaz for inspiration.

Vacant As A Jar

_Daryl’s lips were so much softer than Rick had imagined. They weren’t chapped and dry, instead they were lushly soft and moist against his own. His tongue was insistent yet gentle as it gained entrance to Rick’s mouth, sweeping him away, making the ground under his feet feel like sands being pulled under by a relentless tide._

_He found himself reclining on his mattress, wrapped in Daryl’s strong arms, carried there and laid down, swept off his feet by the other man, guided willingly into his embrace. It felt like coming home, like that dream of a life he wished he’d been living and for the first time opening his eyes to his perfect reality._

_Daryl kissed him deeply, his big warm body covering Rick’s, their legs intertwined, heat and pressure from chest to groin sending thrills down Rick’s spine and centering where his pleasure dwelled. It had been so long, so long it felt like never._

_And in a way, it never had felt like this. Not like with his wife, who had been sweet and pliant beneath him. Now he was with someone as strong as he, someone whose body was so like his, who was pressing hard against his aching groin, making him feel hungers he had only dreamed about until now._

_Rick arched up, his hips flexing, reaching toward the delicious friction Daryl offered him. Their clothes were gone and all he could feel was the glory of skin against naked skin, flush with heat and slick with sweat. He was so close. It was almost, almost enough. Daryl broke the kiss, gazed down at him, blue eyes bright and glittering, teasing and wanton, daring and begging Rick to come for him…_

Rick woke, the dream dissipating in the purple light of dawn. His room was cold and gray. He was alone, sitting up in his bed, the covers twisted around his legs. He was still wearing his sweatpants and t-shirt, and his body shivered, chilled as his sweat dried on his skin. His dick ached, unfinished and unfulfilled. 

He let his hand reach down to grip his fading erection. There was no solace in the touch of his own hand. Rick hadn’t woken hard in months, the effects of the shooting leaving its mark there as well. He hadn’t had sex since before he’d been shot and he realized, here in his lonely bedroom, he might never have it again the way things were going. He wasn’t even sure he could.

The way his heart was pounding, maybe he shouldn’t try. Maybe that part of him was broken too. He’d never really talked to Dr. Stookey about sex, since Lori had left anyway. Rick rubbed absently at his aching chest, knowing it was time for more ibuprofen, trying to rationalize the pain as just physical. 

It was more than that, obviously, but if he started thinking about Daryl, he knew the ache in his chest would intensify until he couldn’t tell the emotional pangs from the physical ones. 

Damn, he thought. It had felt so _good_ when Daryl kissed him. But something had changed, and the other man had suddenly retreated, looking more than just embarrassed, more flustered than he had at the hospital. As if he was completely baffled by doing something that must come as naturally as breathing, whether it was taking care of Rick when he collapsed or kissing him, and then suddenly was reminded that he had no right to show the man he really was underneath the taciturn attitude and awkward silences. 

Who had done this to him, Rick wondered. Taken this dear, honest soul and made him believe that his warmer impulses were wrong, that his needs and his caring shouldn’t be expressed and didn’t deserve to be answered? 

As painful as it was for Rick that Daryl had retreated last night, now in the morning’s chill loneliness, he believed it must be even more agonizing for the other man. 

And worse, Rick had no idea whatsoever how to fix it. Or even if it could be fixed. He didn’t know what he could say that might undo years of hurt for the other man, assure him that he hadn’t minded and had even welcomed his kiss. For all Rick knew, Daryl would never talk to him again. Never let Rick see those beautiful eyes of his and would go back to hiding behind his sideways glances and long hair, hiding who he was and what he needed. That hurt even more than being kissed and then left, even more than dreaming of love and waking up alone.

The evening with Daryl had been going so well. That the normally shy man had been thoughtful enough to bring dinner to him had really touched Rick and he’d been trying to think of a reason to get him to stay longer when Daryl – out of the blue – kissed him.

For Rick, it had been a revelation on many levels. First, he had finally gotten a good enough look at Daryl’s eyes that he’d seen their stunning blue color. Second, that his weeks of looking at Daryl and thinking the guy would be offended if he knew Rick’s thoughts had been an unnecessary concern. No straight man kissed another man on the lips… not like that. Rick had felt dazed, amazed, excited, delighted -- and then, when Daryl had suddenly left, confused and let down.

 _Finally got to kiss a man, and it wasn’t because of the script,_ Rick thought ruefully, _and then he ran off. From sixty to zero in less than ten seconds._

The disappointment couldn’t have been greater. Rick had stood there alone for an unknown amount of time, his body thrumming with arousal, his lips warm and bruised by another man’s kiss. It had been so real, felt so right – it might have been a dream if not for the leftovers in his fridge and the cigarette butt in his ashtray. 

All night his mind had gone around in circles, trying to figure out what had happened. But he had come up empty, without answers. He couldn’t call Daryl either; the man hadn’t put his number on the list Michonne had passed out to the cast so they could contact each other. And he certainly couldn’t call Carol or Michonne to ask them anything. He wasn’t in high school, couldn’t call Daryl’s friends to see if he’d said anything about Rick or if he _liked him_. 

Rick had finally crawled into his bed sometime in the wee hours of the night. The sheets felt cold, the bed emptier than it had at any time since his wife had left him. Rick lay there, exhausted but not sleepy in the least, his chest aching. He climbed back out of bed and stumbled to the living room for a dose of Advil, then returned to his room.

He drifted off, only to be revisited by Daryl’s amazing kiss in his dreams.

He glanced at his clock. It was way too early to get up, even if he’d had a full night’s rest, Rick decided. He shook out his covers, pulled them up and lay back down, blanking his mind and determined to go back to sleep.

 

He slept late and felt awful when he got up. He made some coffee, took some pills and cleaned his kitchen just to have something to do with his hands. Then he picked up his script and flipped through it, but going over his lines seemed like too much effort. Instead, he decided to work on his body movements, the way he should walk and sit as a character with prosthetic legs. He had brought home a pair of forearm crutches to practice with but hadn’t really done much work with them as yet so he figured it was as good a time as any. He spent hours practicing moving like he thought Ken would, leaning heavily on the crutches, using his core to shift his weight and bending only at his hips when he walked. 

Just using them took more strength than Rick had initially realized. He walked from the kitchen to the living room and back again, then down the hall to the bedroom and back out, over and over. He was getting used to using them and more and more, letting them take most of his weight. He used his stomach and his hips, almost kicking out with his legs to take steps without letting his knees bend. When he sat down, he hovered over the chair and moved as if his knees bent stiffly so that he dropped down into the seat. 

By afternoon, Rick was exhausted. He dug in the bag from Ford’s in his fridge and heated up one of the plain burgers in his microwave, pulling a bottle of water out to wash it down. He ate at the counter, then cleaned up, determined not to think of Daryl’s face as he came through the front door, looking shyly hopeful as he brought Rick food.

He decided to rest after lunch, realizing that though his pain was lessening every day, he probably shouldn’t overdo it. Just after he stretched out under his afghan, his phone began to ring.

At first annoyed, he nevertheless sat up and grabbed it, realizing that even though he didn’t have Daryl’s number the other man probably had his as Daryl had been the one to hand out the copies of the list for Michonne.

Rick picked up his phone, turning it to look at the screen. The caller ID read:  
Michonne.

“Hello,” he said, feeling let down and lethargic.

“Hi, Rick,” Michonne’s warm voice flowed over the phone. “How are you doing today? We missed you at rehearsal last night.”

“Missed you all too,” Rick said with a sigh. “But don’t worry. I’m not slacking off. I’ve been working on my lines and today I practiced with the crutches.”

“That’s good, Rick. But don’t get too tired. Are you still having the chest pains?”

“A bit,” he admitted, unconsciously pressing a hand against his sternum. “I’ve been taking Advil like it’s going out of style. Seems to be helping.”

“Well, take as much time as you need. Is there anything I can bring you? Groceries? More Advil?”

“I’m good.” He cleared his throat. “Daryl… brought me some take out last night.”

“Aww, that was nice of him,” Michonne responded.

“Yeah.” Rick ran a hand through his hair. “He’s a good guy.” He thought he managed to say the words with no particular inflection that would betray his feelings.

“Yeah,” Michonne agreed. “I think he’s had a pretty rough life. I’m glad he’s making a few friends through the theater.” 

Rick was glad too, though he wondered about whether the friendship that had begun to grow between Daryl and himself would recover from what had happened last night.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Michonne went on, “he called me earlier. The prison is releasing his brother because of what happened. He was up for early parole anyway and he called Daryl this morning to come pick him up. He’ll be busy today and maybe for the next few getting his brother settled.”

“Oh.” Rick couldn’t come up with anything better to respond than that, his mind whirling with thoughts of Daryl having to go get his brother and tend to him in the aftermath of last night. He wasn’t sure if he were relieved or not. In part, at least Daryl had something to keep his mind off what he obviously saw as his lapse in judgment. But having to deal with Merle would also keep him from having to see Rick or deal with what had happened. 

“I hear that guy can be a real pain in the ass,” Michonne continued. “So I guess Daryl will have his hands full.”

“I’ve met him,” Rick told her. “Pain in the ass is putting it mildly.” He forced a chuckle.

“Well, I’d better let you go. Call me if you need anything,” Michonne said, concluding the conversation.

“I will. Thanks for calling.”

Rick hung up, his thoughts going back to the drive to the state prison with Daryl. How their budding friendship had really begun that night. Now, with Merle home, what was going to happen to Daryl’s conflicted feelings? 

He was tired after working with the arm crutches and stretched back out on the couch for a nap, leaving the tv on for background white noise. He dozed off and managed to sleep soundly, without dreaming.

A knock at his door roused him. Rick sat up groggily, glancing at his watch as he called out, “Come in.” He ran both hands over his face to wipe away the cobwebs and smooth his unruly hair, deliberately not looking toward the door.

“Rick? Are you awake?” 

It was Carol. Rick forced the disappointment off his face and responded. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You were napping, weren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s okay. If I slept any longer I’d be up half the night.” 

She was carrying a wicker basket. “Okay, but let me know if you really want to go back to your nap.”

“It’s fine, Carol.” Rick turned so he could put his feet on the floor and tried to look more lively. “What brings you over here?”

“I brought you some homemade fried chicken and hush puppies.” She smiled shyly and came further into the apartment, holding out the basket. 

“Awww, you didn’t have to do that.” Rick got up and met her half way, taking the surprisingly heavy basket from her. “What’s in here? Bowling balls?”

“I made a ton of chicken,” Carol laughed. “It’s been hard trying not to cook a lot now that I’m not with my husband.” She looked around, then went back to the door. “Sophia? Come on in, honey.”

Rick, on his way to the kitchen, turned back. Carol was holding the door open and motioning. Rick put down the basket and headed toward the door, curious to meet Carol’s daughter.

The girl peeked around the door, her face pink with a blush. She looked to be about ten years old.

“Hi, Sophia,” Rick said, keeping his voice low and encouraging. “I’m Rick. It’s all right.”

Then, apparently reassured enough, she popped into the room, grinning widely. 

Carol put her hands on the girl’s shoulders proudly. “This is my daughter, Sophia, Rick.”

“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Rick told the girl.

Carol nudged her shoulder and the girl put out her hand. Rick shook it seriously, then smiled at her as she shook his hand hard. 

“She’s a little shy,” Carol said unnecessarily. 

“Mom!” Sophia blushed even harder when her mother pointed that out. 

“My son is kinda shy sometimes too,” Rick said. “He’s just about your age.”

“You have a son?” Sophia asked eagerly. “Is he here?” She looked around the apartment as if hoping the boy would appear.

“No, he lives in Virginia so I don’t get to see him very often,” Rick said, trying not to let his sadness over that show. “When he comes down for his visit this summer though, I’ll make sure you get to meet him.”

“That’ll be nice,” Sophia grinned. 

“She needs more friends too,” Carol said, looking at her daughter fondly. 

“Don’t we all,” Rick agreed.

He offered to share some of the chicken Carol had brought but both she and Sophia declined, saying they’d already eaten at home. He made some coffee for himself and Carol and poured a glass of milk for Sophia, and they both joined him at the kitchen table. Sophia took out a cell phone in a pink case and started playing a game on it while she sipped at her milk.

“This is delicious,” Rick said after the first bite of a chicken leg. “You’re a great cook.”

Carol ducked her head, waving off the compliment. “I’m just a mom,” she demurred. “But I do enjoy it.” She took a sip of her coffee. “For months after Ed died, I couldn’t though. He was always finding fault with the meals I fixed.”

Surprised that she would mention her husband’s abuse in front of her daughter, Rick’s eyes moved to Sophia, but the girl didn’t seem affected by her mother’s comment. “Daryl comes over for dinner at our house sometimes,” Sophia spoke up. “You should too, Mr. Rick.”

“I think that would be lovely!” Carol said brightly. “Once you’re feeling better, Rick. Maybe next Sunday.”

Rick nearly choked. He coughed to cover his reaction and wiped his mouth on a napkin. He certainly was under no illusions that he and Daryl would be having dinner with Carol and Sophia any time soon.

“Depends on Daryl, I guess,” Rick said, trying not to let his tumultuous feelings show in his voice. “Did you hear? His brother is getting out of prison and he might be… busy.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Carol was truly surprised. “I knew that it might be a possibility but never dreamed it would be this soon.” She ran her finger over the rim of her mug. “Did he call you to tell you this?”

Rick shook his head, wishing Daryl had. “No, he told Michonne and she told me when she called me earlier today. I guess he was on his way up to Reidsville today.”

Carol nodded. “He’s not the type to make a lot of phone calls about things, even something like this. You know he doesn’t even have email?”

“Daryl doesn’t even own a computer!” Sophia said, sounding as though this were something unimaginable.

Rick wasn’t surprised in the least. For a man who had trouble looking people in the eye, email would be more personal than he would want to get, even though to most people it was hardly that. Too invasive, too in your face, Rick supposed would be Daryl’s opinion. And probably too much typing too. He couldn’t keep from smiling at the thought.

“He’s a strange guy,” he managed to say. 

“I like him a lot,” Sophia declared, as if trying to stick up for him. 

“I didn’t mean that… he wasn’t nice,” Rick amended. He’d almost said that he liked Daryl too.

“She’s got a crush,” Carol smiled. “Just like Beth.”

Rick nodded, hoping Carol hadn’t seen the way he looked at Daryl, that it wasn’t that obvious that Rick had a ‘crush’ on him too. 

“And the funny thing is, he doesn’t encourage them at all.” Carol was smiling. “He’s gruff, grouchy… but in his own way, very sweet.”

Rick knew that was true. “He brought me dinner last night,” he found himself saying. “Carry out from Ford’s bar.”

“Aww, really?” Carol responded. At Rick’s nod she went on. “You know, I really think he was worried about you the other night.”

Rick couldn’t meet her eyes. “Like you said, he’s a nice guy. He was just trying to be helpful.”

“I don’t know,” Carol said slowly. 

“What do you mean?” Rick asked, wishing he could take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth. 

Carol looked at him steadily. “He’s a different guy, like we’ve said. He’s always struck me as kind of… lonely. By choice. But he goes out to eat with you after rehearsal.” She lifted one shoulder. “I’m glad he’s opening up a bit. It’s good for him not to be so isolated. So when you were having such trouble, I could tell he was concerned.” She took a breath. “He’s shy, but I know deep down there’s a part of him that wouldn’t let anything stop him if he wanted to take care of someone. Or if someone he liked needed anything.”

Rick felt his face flushing and he picked up his own cup of coffee in an effort to cover his embarrassment. 

“You should have seen how he helped me after Ed,” Carol continued. “He came over and helped me throw out all his things, and he repainted my bedroom. He even helped me shop for a new bed and furniture for that room.”

“He helped me pick out my new bedroom set too,” Sophia piped up. “It’s all white and he put my four poster bed together for me.”

Rick’s eyes widened at that, the idea of Daryl putting a little girl’s dream bedroom furniture together. Yet it didn’t really surprise him. Daryl was so kind in so many ways. 

“You want to watch some tv or something, Sophia?” Rick asked, feeling uncomfortable even though she probably wasn’t playing close attention to the adults. 

“No, I’m okay,” the girl answered, her eyes on the screen of her phone.

“Sophia, go sit on the couch while you play your game,” Carol told her. 

“All right.” Sophia gave a long-suffering sigh but did as her mother told her, first draining her glass of milk. She settled herself on the sofa, barely taking her eyes off her game as she did so.

“I worry he’ll have to stop doing so much at the theater,” Carol said then, “with that brother of his out of jail. He can’t be completely healed already, can he?”

“I don’t know. I guess the prison authorities don’t want him on their hands any longer. And he probably will do better out. But I see what you’re saying.” Somehow, he couldn’t picture Merle telling Daryl that he would be fine on his own while Daryl went off to build sets. Merle Dixon probably hadn’t been in a theater in his life.

“I’ve never met him.” Carol’s voice was soft and Rick realized that perhaps she was also worried that Daryl wouldn’t be around to see her and Sophia as much with his brother out of prison.

“I have. I arrested him. More than once.” Rick chose his words carefully, even though Sophia probably had tuned them out completely.

“For… violent crimes?” Carol looked scared.

“Not really. Drugs, mostly. He… didn’t kill anybody on purpose or anything.” He could only imagine the wrath the big man had been capable of if someone owed him drug money.

Carol nodded. “Daryl told me Merle hit an elderly man with his car.” She lowered her voice. “While under the influence?”

“That’s right,” Rick agreed. “But I guess Daryl loves him.”

Carol pursed her lips. “That’s true. Like I said, he’s a good man. He wouldn’t be disloyal to his own brother.” 

Rick sighed, knowing she was right. “Yeah. I wish I knew him better,” he said finally. “I get the sense that…” He trailed off, not really sure how to say what he meant. 

“That he needs someone,” Carol finished, nodding. “With his brother away, he was able to be his own person. From the few things he’s said, it sounds to me like he just did things Merle’s way before. Like Daryl was in his brother’s shadow.” She sighed, fixing Rick with a look. “I would hate to see that change.”

If Daryl was shy now, away from Merle’s influence, Rick could hardly imagine how reticent he would have been to act on his own or make friends previously. His heart constricted at the idea. Despite the aura of awkward shyness Daryl carried, Rick knew he was capable of deep feelings and he would hate to see him revert to the way he must have been before Merle was incarcerated.

“I’d hate to see it change too,” Rick told her honestly. He had so many questions, but he hesitated to ask them. “Do you… do you know much about his family life?”

She raised an eyebrow and looked out the kitchen window a moment before answering. “Not a lot. He doesn’t like to talk about it. But I know it wasn’t good.” She sighed, then met Rick’s eyes again. “I mean… he understands what I went through with Ed in a way most people can’t.”

“Most people?”

“Most people who’ve never been hit by someone who’s supposed to love them.”

Carol’s words dropped like stones into a smooth stream. Rick opened his mouth but no words came out, he was so shocked. And yet, he realized, he really shouldn’t be. The signs were there. The flinching. The nervousness when he felt he’d done something wrong. The story about being lost in the woods for nine days but nobody had known he was missing. Rick had tried to convince himself it had just been neglect, though on some level, Rick had suspected all along. But the confirmation was so much worse.

“Oh, God.” Rick felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He should have known. And yet, even now, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to let the knowledge affect how he felt about Daryl.

“Listen, I don’t know everything,” Carol rushed to say, “he’s never said much. But… once I saw him when he was changing his work shirt.”

“What?” Rick asked, confused.

“He didn’t know I saw,” Carol explained. “It was only for a second. But there were…” She dropped her voice, but Sophia was occupied with her game. “There were _scars_ on his back.” She put a hand to her mouth. “God, Rick, I shouldn’t have said anything. He’s so private. Please don’t tell him I told you.”

Rick was already shaking his head. “No, of course not. Don’t worry, Carol. I won’t say a word. Besides, you don’t think he knows you saw, right?”

“Right. A few of the things he’s said, when I would talk about Ed, I could tell he… understood. But he never told me anything specific, Rick. Even so, I would never want to break his confidence that way.”

“Don’t worry,” Rick repeated. “I… I really like Daryl too. I wouldn’t do a thing to hurt his feelings. He’s… he’s important to me.” He had never meant anything more in his life. 

Carol met his eyes steadily, reaching across the table to clasp Rick’s hand. She looked into his eyes, assessing his words, his sincerity. 

“I can see that, Rick,” she whispered finally. “I’m glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we will see Rick and Daryl together again! But of course, it will be awkward.


	13. I Just Don't Get Things Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick goes back to rehearsal and finally sees Daryl again.

_I Just Don’t Get Things Done_  


“Rick! You’re back!”

Beth was the first to notice him as he walked through the doors to the auditorium. She waved from the stage and hurried to jump down and rush up the aisle to greet him. Philip and Andrea, also on stage apparently running lines with the teenager, waved but stayed where they were.

“Rick!” Beth exclaimed again when she reached him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging tight. “Are you all better now?”

Rick laughed, a bit overwhelmed by her greeting but pleased to be welcomed so enthusiastically. “Yeah. My doctor told me I could come back to rehearsals. He wants to see me again next week to make sure I’m doing all right but I should be fine.”

“I’m so glad!” the young girl gushed, patting him as she released him from her embrace. 

“It’s early yet,” Rick said, having come straight from the doctor. He looked up toward the stage for a familiar presence. “Anything going on?”

“No,” Beth answered. “Maggie came over to help with the set today so I came along with her. Philip and Andrea got here about an hour ago to work on their scenes and I’ve been working on lines with them. I guess everybody else will get here at the regular time.”

Not seeing the man he was looking for, Rick decided to ask her. “Is Daryl here?”

Her face crumpled into something resembling disappointment. “No. I guess his brother is taking up all his time. He hasn’t been here in _days_.”

“He hasn’t quit, has he?” Rick had trouble keeping his own facial expression neutral. 

“No, not that I know of. But apparently he is real busy with Merle.” She wrinkled her nose as she said the name.

“Have you talked to him?” Rick couldn’t help himself.

“No,” Beth sighed dramatically. “But Michonne told us that he was getting Merle all settled and he had to drive him places, like his parole officer and the doctor and other places. She said Daryl told her Merle thinks we’re taking advantage of him.”

“What?” 

“Yeah.” Beth rolled her eyes. “Like he’s not getting paid to work on the sets here so why is he doing it and stuff like that.” She shrugged. “As if anybody gets paid for community theater! He sounds like a terrible person.”

Rick couldn’t disagree. “I’m sure Daryl will let Merle know he doesn’t care about being paid to help here.” As he said the words, he couldn’t help but remember what Carol had said the other night about Daryl following along with Merle when he was younger. Surely he wouldn’t just quit because his brother told him to. Would he?

The auditorium doors opened then and Michonne entered. In her arms was a little boy with long curls and big, curious eyes. He was holding a child’s tablet that was playing a tune and he was laughing as he watched cartoon figures dancing on the screen. 

“Oh!” Beth squealed. “Is this Andre?”

“Yes,” Michonne smiled. “Yes, it is. His father dropped him off right before I left the house so he’ll be with us tonight. I hope nobody minds.”

“Mind? Who could mind? He’s so cute!” Beth leaned over to watch the screen with him. “Hi, Andre. I’m Beth.”

He turned to look at her with surprise. “You like Sponge Bob?” 

“Yes, I sure do. I’ll watch him for you, Michonne. If you want.”

“That would be a big help, Beth,” Michonne told her. “Andre, you want to go show Beth your games?”

Andre nodded and jumped down from his mother’s arms. He took Beth’s hand and the two hurried down the aisle.

Michonne smiled fondly at the two of them, then looked at Rick. “Oh, hi, Rick. Sorry, I should have introduced you to Andre.”

“That’s okay,” Rick grinned. “Once he saw Beth, I don’t think he even noticed anybody else was standing here. Plus, he’s three.”

“True. But I’ll make sure he learns your name before tonight is over,” Michonne said, squeezing his shoulder. “How are you? You look so much better.”

“I feel better. No more fever. No chest pain since day before yesterday. I saw the doctor today and he told me I was good to come back.” Rick did feel okay. If not for what had happened with Daryl he might have thought he imagined the whole thing. But five days ago, he’d collapsed on that stage, Daryl had taken charge of the situation, acted worried and the next evening kissed him and left immediately. That wasn’t the kind of thing one just imagined. Thinking of Daryl though, led Rick to ask Michonne about what Beth had told him.

“Daryl hasn’t been around?” he asked.

Michonne shook her head. “No. Unfortunately he hasn’t. I take it Merle isn’t an ideal patient. Daryl let his brother know that he was busy in the evenings. Merle asked with what and Daryl told him. Merle apparently had a few choice words about the type of people who hang around a theater putting on plays.” She rolled her eyes. “We’ve got two weeks to get the set finished and a ton of other things and we need him here. I don’t think he’s quitting but…” She trailed off, sighing. “I’m going to call him again tomorrow if he doesn’t show up tonight.”

Rick nodded. He didn’t like hearing that Daryl had not been at the theater at all since Merle had come home but he had his doubts as to the whole reason. Then again, he knew Rick wouldn’t be there for the next few days, so he wasn’t staying away to avoid Rick. It was possible Daryl was still conflicted about what had happened at Rick’s apartment and just seeing anyone might be too much for him.

If he could just talk to Daryl, Rick thought, he could find out what he was thinking and feeling. 

_Yeah, right. As if Daryl Dixon is going to just sit down and discuss his **feelings** with me._

It was still about an hour before the time they usually started rehearsal so Rick wandered down the aisle. The flats had been put up, he saw, thinking that Daryl must have done that the day after they’d taken Rick to the hospital. A set of steps had been put in too, which led the way to the imaginary second floor of the Talley house. Beyond the wall on the left side of the stage – what actors referred to as stage right when they were facing the audience – was the porch where characters made entrances and exits and where most of act two would take place. He could see a young woman painting the flats a golden yellow color and realized it was Maggie, Beth’s sister who he had met the first night of auditions.

Taking the steps up to the stage, he walked over to her. “Hey, Maggie,” he said, “how are you?”

“I’m doin’ great,” she smiled, her southern drawl soft and pretty. “You’re Rick, right?”

“Yeah. You remembered.” 

“I heard you were out sick a few days. Glad to see you’re back.” She dipped her brush in the can of paint on the drop cloth and painted another swath of the set wall.

“Good to be back,” he answered. “Guess you’re helping Daryl out?”

“I love to paint the sets,” Maggie grinned. “After this yellow base coat, I’m going to make it look like flowered wall paper! I’ve got some big rubber stamps I’m going to use to get that effect.”

“Sounds great,” Rick answered, liking the idea. “I guess Daryl’s got a bit more building to do.” He resisted the urge to groan at how often he was mentioning the other man. 

“Yeah, I wanted to get this done for him. He told me he’d try to get here in the next day or two.”

Despite himself, Rick almost sighed in relief, holding it in just in time so he didn’t seem completely weird to Maggie.

“Poor Beth misses him so much,” she went on, oblivious to Rick’s inner turmoil. “She’s been worried about his brother coming home and taking up all Daryl’s time.” Maggie glanced over at Rick and smiled tolerantly. “I’ve told her he doesn’t know she’s alive, but…” 

“I’ve seen the way she looks at him.” Rick couldn’t help smiling back. “Does she know he’s a good bit older than she is?”

“Yes. But he’s so ‘lonely’ she keeps saying. And he’s a ‘good person and shouldn’t be all by himself.’” Maggie shook her head. “She was dating this boy her age, Jimmy, but she lost interest when she met Daryl here at the theater a few months ago. That’s one of the main reasons she tried out for this play.” She dipped her paint brush again. “I don’t think the man’s ever been on a date in his entire life.”

Rick smiled but part of him wanted to think that it had almost been a date the other night at his apartment. A date that had ended awkwardly of course, so he tended to agree with Maggie. Dating was just one of the many social situations Daryl wasn’t comfortable with. 

Then Maggie’s next words filtered into his brain. “I don’t even think he’d know what to _do_ with a girl.”

Luckily, Maggie didn’t wait for a response, instead swiping her brush over the next blank part of the flat she was painting. Rick couldn’t have replied if his life had depended on it. The other night, for just a moment, it had sure seemed that Daryl knew what to do with another man, but he was certain that thought had never entered Maggie’s head and Rick wasn’t about to put it there.

“Maggie!” a cheerful voice called out then. Rick looked up to see Glenn climbing up on the stage and hurrying toward them. His eyes were bright with excitement. “Need any help?” he asked her, sliding past Rick as if he didn’t even see him. Rick suddenly realized the younger man had taken a liking to Maggie.

“How’ve you been, Glenn?” Rick asked, speaking up so he was sure to be heard.

“Oh! Rick! Didn’t see you!” Glenn didn’t even look embarrassed. “How are you doing? You look a lot better!” The moment he had finished speaking, he turned back to Maggie. 

“I’m fine,” Rick told the back of Glenn’s head. He smiled and turned away, figuring he would let the two of them have their time. For her part, Maggie wasn’t giving off the same excitement as Glenn was, but she did smile at him a little more broadly than she had at Rick, so he supposed she didn’t hate Glenn or anything. Glenn bent down and whispered in her ear, which earned him a shove from her elbow but she was laughing when she did it. 

Rick sighed, his gaze falling on where Philip and Andrea were in the middle of the stage. He had his arms around her and she was looking up at him, her eyes warm and sparkling. It was so much easier when it was two people of the opposite sex, Rick thought. Or at least it was in places like this. He knew gay men found each other in bars or other hang outs where it was more likely that another man was gay than straight and if you walked up and started talking to him he wasn’t likely to be surprised by your flirting. But Rick knew that wasn’t what he wanted, even if it would be much easier. He didn’t want just sex with another man. He’d already met the person he was interested in. 

The thud of the opening doors drew his attention, but he didn’t think there was any reason to wonder which cast member had just arrived. Rick glanced toward the doors, anyway, and his heart caught in his throat when he saw that it was Daryl. 

Several of the others registered surprise too, though nobody actually said anything. They were all aware that Daryl didn’t like drawing attention to himself at any time, but this evening, he looked less friendly than usual. His expression was surly and his eyes were on the floor, his shoulders hunched and his hair seeming to cover more of his face than usual. As if realizing that people were looking in his direction, he paused, though he didn’t look up toward the stage. When the others looked away and started talking to each other again, he continued down the aisle. 

Rick felt like he shouldn’t be there. It was early; rehearsal wouldn’t start for another hour, but he’d figured that after seeing his doctor he might as well not go back home. Daryl wouldn’t be expecting him and he didn’t want to make his friend any more uncomfortable. Rick felt plenty uncomfortable himself. He hadn’t expected to have to see Daryl for the first time with a bunch of other people around.

So Rick moved quietly to the far right side of the stage, past the curtains, hoping he wouldn’t be seen in the shadows. Maybe he could slip out through a backstage entrance without having to see Daryl. It wasn’t that he was a coward, he told himself, he was just trying to spare the other man’s feelings.

He hesitated though, glancing out to see if he could see from his vantage point, without being seen. 

Daryl stomped toward Michonne, glowering as if he was mad at the world. She noticed him and even she seemed taken aback by his stormy expression, her smile of greeting fading immediately.

Rick couldn’t hear them clearly but it became obvious that Michonne was asking Daryl what was troubling him. He looked stubborn, his body language clearly saying, “what makes you think anything’s wrong?” but then Michonne pointed at his face. 

Rick leaned out as far as he could and then he saw what Michonne was looking at. Daryl’s face looked bruised, his left eye was swollen and purple beneath the shaggy dark blond hair that half obscured it. 

“It’s nothin’!” Daryl’s offended tone carried well, unmistakably conveying he had no intention of offering an explanation. 

Rick’s mind was whirling. Somebody had hit him – was it his brother? It didn’t look like a construction accident though he supposed it was possible. The bruises appeared to be at least a day old and something twisted in Rick’s gut to think of Daryl being in a situation where he’d received them, even though he was sure the “other guy” probably looked worse. It was all Rick could do to stay where he was and not go straight to Daryl and demand to know why he had a black eye and bruises, but he knew he couldn’t. Not unless he wanted their friendship over for good. 

After exchanging a few words with Michonne, Daryl climbed up on the stage and went to speak to Maggie. He looked over her paint job, gave her one of his curt nods and then mumbled something about going down to the workshop. He stalked back down the steps of the stage and went out through the side doors.

Rick breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to act as if he hadn’t been hiding, he ambled out from the curtains and went down the steps on the opposite side of the stage. The whole cast wasn’t even here yet. It would be at least an hour before rehearsal began. Maybe he could go down to the workshop and speak to Daryl there. 

Would he be invading the man’s privacy? Would trying to talk to him about what had happened the other night at Rick’s make things worse, especially given the mood he was in? Would whatever had happened to him to cause those bruises make him withdraw from Rick even more now? 

Rick couldn’t deal with the indecision. He had been a cop and he had walked into plenty of tense situations, broken up fights, stared down armed men. But he hadn’t had to worry about the other people’s feelings in those situations and Daryl’s feelings were too important to him to just barge in and make him talk. 

“Hey, Rick!” a voice called out.

Rick turned and saw Philip walking toward him. Andrea was nowhere to be seen for the moment. “Yeah?”

“Did you want to go over that scene we have?” 

Rick didn’t like the way Philip looked at him, like he was a specimen in the guy’s lab. He got the impression that Philip didn’t exactly think Rick was a good enough actor to play the role of Ken but Rick hadn’t ever let other actors’ egos intimidate him before.

“Which scene?” he asked, his mind still on Daryl.

“The fable,” Philip said. “You know, the Eskimo folk tale Weston tells.” 

“Right.” It was a funny bit late in act one. Weston, who was Glenn’s character, trying to sound intellectual, told a gross story about frozen caribou meat while Rick and Philip’s characters pretty much made fun of him without Weston even realizing it. “We really should have Glenn if we’re going over that scene,” Rick told Philip. “But I think he’s helping Maggie.” He nodded to where Glenn had found another paint brush and was indeed working on the flats alongside her. 

Philip rolled his eyes. “Great. Whatever. Let’s figure out a time soon though. I want to get the timing down.”

“Sure, of course,” Rick smiled agreeably. He moved past Philip and made his way to Michonne’s side.

She was sitting in her usual spot in the middle of the third row, looking over notes. Rick sat down next to her and she glanced up at him.

“What did he say?” Rick asked without preamble. He kept his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

Michonne sighed and leaned toward Rick. “Not much beyond ‘bar fight’” she told him. “I wouldn’t press him for details if I were you.” 

Rick nodded, agreeing but unwilling to just let it go. “A bar fight that happened last night shouldn’t be making him mad now,” he muttered.

Michonne’s expression said she hadn’t thought of that. She rolled her eyes. “It’s gotta be Merle. Either he got Daryl into the fight or he’s just generally making an ass of himself. Or both.”

Rick nodded. Whatever had happened between him and Daryl was one thing, but he was worried about him, about how Merle being home was affecting the other man. He thought about what Carol had said about Merle calling the shots when he was around. He couldn’t just sit there and not do _something._

He remembered the state Daryl had worked himself into on the way to the prison that night. He remembered being able to calm him down, to soothe his anxiety. Every muscle in Daryl’s body was tense and overwrought tonight. Rick couldn’t stand by while he was hurting like that.

He got up.

“Rick…” Michonne whispered urgently.

“I won’t push him,” he told her. He climbed over the seat behind him so he didn’t have to waste time going back out of the row to his right and then all the way back to the door leading to the workshop on his left. “Don’t worry.” 

He knew she didn’t think he should be doing what he was about to do. There was probably even reason she should be worried about it. But Rick had no intention of looking back to see Michonne’s disapproving look or second-guessing himself.

 

He could hear noise from the workshop before he got there and when he pushed open the swinging door, he saw that Daryl was using the circular saw, cutting through a length of wood. He watched for a moment, noting the man’s concentration, how his shoulders seemed less tense already as he guided the wood through the buzzing saw. Once the first piece was cut, he tossed both pieces onto a side table and grabbed another length to cut.

Rick didn’t want to disturb him and chance him cutting himself, so he just watched for a moment, enjoying the play of his muscled arms, the way his long hair dusted over the collar of his sleeveless shirt. Daryl wasn’t wearing his vest today and considering the fight he’d apparently been in, Rick hoped nothing had happened to it. Still, without it, his worn-out shirt clung to the planes of his back and Rick could see the inherent strength in the man’s body. He remembered how solid Daryl had felt as he leaned into him while they were kissing, how strong his hands had been as they clutched at Rick’s hips. 

Rick shook his head, trying to dispel the erotic images. It probably wasn’t a good idea at the moment. Then again, maybe it was. Maybe knowing that Rick was interested in him and would love it if Daryl kissed him again was exactly what the man needed to know.

He finished cutting the length of board and switched off the saw. Rick was about to say his name when Daryl looked up, obviously aware that he wasn’t alone.

“Hi,” Rick said, keeping his voice low and soft.

Daryl actually blushed. He ducked his head, half acknowledging Rick’s presence and half as if he wished he could ignore him.

At least he wasn’t glaring at him, Rick thought. He took a step into the workshop. 

Daryl backed up, colliding with the worktable behind him. “I got work to do,” he muttered.

As if that was going to make Rick turn around and leave. “I heard you haven’t been here for a few days,” he said quietly. “Merle’s home?”

Daryl scoffed. He pretended the cut pieces of board needed to be lined up evenly as if he needed some reason not to look toward Rick.

“How’s he doing?”

“Same as ever,” Daryl said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “’Cept for his hand, he’s right back to where he was ‘fore he went in.”

Rick took a few steps further into the room. “That must be an adjustment for you.” He tried to make his tone non-committal but Daryl tensed anyway. 

“Sorry,” Rick said. “I guess everybody’s been saying that to you already.” He was standing on the opposite side of the table from Daryl now, wishing the other man would meet his eyes. He’d dreamed of their color, needing to see them again.

He leaned forward, ducking his head, trying to capture Daryl’s gaze. “I didn’t come down here to talk about your brother.” 

Daryl moved as if he needed to escape, striding toward the far end of the table. Rick mirrored him and they met at the end of the table, only two feet of empty space now separating them.

Daryl kept his gaze averted, his hands fisted at his sides, his body tensing as Rick looked at him. 

“Easy,” Rick soothed. Did Daryl think Rick wanted to hit him? All things considered, that was probably a fair bet and the idea made Rick’s heart ache. “I’m not lookin’ for a fight,” he said, making his sure his voice was gentle but not too emotional. “Looks like you already had one.”

Daryl shrugged, his tense posture deflating a bit. “Michonne send you down to get it outta me?”

“No. In fact, she told me not to ask.” 

“Makin’ it your business then?” There was a bit of a dare in the tone, but Rick didn’t take the bait. Daryl met his gaze briefly, fire sparking in his eyes.

Rick held up a placating hand. “If you hadn’t left the other night, I mighta felt it was my business to know.”

There, it was out in the open. Daryl could pretend the kiss didn’t happen or he could respond to Rick’s implication that more could have happened that night.

“Whatd’ya want from me, Rick?” Daryl asked and there was real fear in his tone, something like panic on his face.

Rick sighed. Talking to Daryl was like trying to corner a feral dog. “Easy,” he repeated, shifting slightly closer. “I just… I mainly want to be your friend.”

Something like relief flitted over Daryl’s face, followed by what Rick could only interpret as severe disappointment. “Friends, huh?” Daryl looked off toward the far side of the room. “Friends don’ do what…” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, as if putting it into words was more than he could handle.

Rick took a step closer to him, expecting Daryl to retreat, hopeful when he didn’t. Yet he was still taking a big chance when he spoke again. “I’d like us to be the kind of friends that do.” As soon as the words were out, Rick’s whole body flushed. They were too bold, too much, maybe for either of them to handle. But they were out and he couldn’t take them back.

Daryl turned around, leaning on the workbench and looking out the window as if hoping to find his answers out there in the blue sky. “Fuck, Rick. You act like you think I know what the hell I’m doin’.”

Taking his life in his hands, Rick moved up behind him, close enough to touch, though he kept his hands to himself. “That’s funny,” he breathed. “I get the impression you don’t know… any more than I do.”

Daryl dropped his gaze from the window, hanging his head so that his hair obscured his expression. His shoulders drew up tight and Rick could imagine how they must ache. 

“When we drove up to Reidsville,” he reminded him. “You let me rub your shoulders for you.” Rick made it a question. 

Daryl groaned, nodding without looking at Rick, who leaned closer, raising his hand slowly. “It’s okay,” Rick sighed, letting his hand settle on Daryl’s clenched muscles. There was the expected flinch but it was obvious Daryl tried to contain it. “It’s okay,” Rick repeated as he let his hand coast over Daryl’s hunched shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He gently massaged the other man in silence, bringing up his other hand to help his efforts. He kept his hands at shoulder height, fearing that if he dipped lower down on his back, it would become too personal for the reticent man. And, considering what Carol said she had seen beneath his shirt, for Rick too. Still, Rick was aware of the great liberty he’d been given permission to take. Instinct told him that this was something Daryl wouldn’t allow any other person to do for him. Daryl gave a breathy moan and leaned into Rick’s hands. 

“That’s it,” Rick encouraged. “It’s okay to relax.” He could more easily feel the muscles under the thin shirt than he had when Daryl had been wearing his leather vest on the trip to the prison. Slowly, under Rick’s careful attention, the tightness was easing. He leaned closer, trying to gauge his expression and Rick could see that Daryl was biting his lower lip, that his eyes were shut tight, as if fighting the urge to unwind, as if he expected the other shoe to drop and take the moment from friendly to dangerous. 

How many times had he found himself in similar situations, Rick wondered. How many times had Daryl extended the slightest hope for trust only to have it flung back in his face and be rewarded with pain for his efforts? It killed him to think about what Carol had told him but he knew it was true with every huffed breath Daryl took, with every hesitant shift in his body. Rick kept his hands gentle, thinking of ones that had been anything but when they touched Daryl.

Another small groan of relief escaped Daryl as Rick kept up his massage, feeling his tension loosening, and he sensed a warmth building between them, less hesitant than that night in his car, more like when Daryl had kissed him, but somehow not as fragile. 

“You surprised me the other night,” Rick murmured, the words almost involuntary. “But I never thought about hitting you when you did that.” 

Daryl froze and for an instant, Rick thought he was going to pull away, break the spell that was holding them. Instead, Daryl turned his head, seeking Rick’s gaze, his eyes desperate and needy. He looked like he wanted to say something but simply couldn’t find the words.

“Did you think about it after you went home?” Rick asked, seeking his answer in those mesmerizing eyes. “I did.”

Daryl humphed. “Little bit.” His gaze belied that, but Rick took the admission as a win. “Figured out you didn’t hate it, exactly.”

Rick wanted to ask him why he’d left but knew he shouldn’t, that Daryl probably didn’t even know, or if he did, that the answer was far too complicated for him to give. Instead he said, “Want to try it again?”

Daryl swallowed, his gulp loud in the silence of the workshop. His eyes darted to the door, then back at Rick’s, dropping down to Rick’s lips. 

Rick grasped him by the shoulders, turning Daryl to face him. He was so handsome, despite the bruises. Braver than any man Rick had ever known.

Rick’s heart was pounding but he felt no pain, only nervous anticipation. It was his idea this time, it was up to him to follow through. Daryl had been biting at his lower lip. It was reddened, wet from his saliva, imminently kissable. 

Daryl seemed to be holding his breath, waiting.

They were just the same height. It should be easy. Rick closed his eyes and homed in on his target.

His aim was true. Daryl’s soft mouth was right where he wanted it to be, under his own. He sealed them together, unable to stop his little whimper of joy at the renewed connection. He felt inadequate, unsure how to get his tongue into Daryl’s mouth even though he’d considered himself a pretty good kisser once. This was uncharted territory though, his partner a skittish native he didn’t want to spook. He let the kiss deepen naturally, his lips parting, moistening, though he didn’t try to invade Daryl’s mouth, instead just letting the sweetness build. 

Daryl kissed him back, careful, hopeful, the connection between them sparking to life. His hands came up to grasp Rick’s elbows, holding him back as much as he held on. Rick knew what he meant, they were in a public building, people they knew not far away, anyone could burst through the doors at any second, but _this is good this is good_ throbbed between them, words becoming unimportant, their lips communicating better this way. The way they were meant to.

They broke apart all too soon but it was still good, still okay. Rick opened his eyes and he knew: Daryl was okay too. His expression was an open book for once. He looked stunned, confused, bemused and actually happy. He was blushing again too, as if those emotions were completely alien to him. Daryl looked away, a shrug, a nod, and then he stepped back as if he needed some space between them.

Rick let him go, new confidence replacing his concerns. He understood now. This was hard for both of them. He was willing to take it at Daryl’s pace. As long as he knew there was going to _be_ a pace. 

He lifted his hand, knowing that Daryl’s eyes were watching his movement, and brushed the hair gently back from his swollen eye. 

“You wanta tell me what happened?” 

“Psh.” Daryl shrugged. “Shouldn’t. You’re not a deputy any more but you could still get me and Merle run in.”

“Hmmm. He breakin’ the law already?” Rick asked the question easily, trying to show he was willing to let Daryl off the hook.

“What else is new?” Daryl didn’t meet his eyes, instead scuffing his boot through the sawdust on the floor. “He’s in pain, right? But the stuff the doctor prescribed ain’t good enough, or so he thinks. Made me take him out to find one of his old connections at a bar he used to hang out in. Guy wasn’t happy to see old Merle. I got in the middle.” He waved a hand to indicate what had happened to his face. “S’not the first time.”

Rick nodded. “Where’d Merle even get the money for drugs?”

“Where ya think, Grimes?” Daryl rolled his eyes. “He thinks the only reason I been workin’ all this time was to make sure there was enough in the till to keep him high and happy.”

Rick wasn’t surprised. “You set him straight on that?”

Daryl glanced away. “We’re still workin’ on that.” He took a breath, finishing his story. “Anyway, the dealer got his price, or most of it, Merle got what he came for and we got outta there without much trouble.”

“That seems debatable,” Rick told him, but he nodded. “I’m glad it wasn’t more serious.”

“You ain’t tellin’ the others, right?” Daryl checked.

“Of course not. Though Beth is going to be worried when she sees how you look,” Rick told him. 

“Shit.” Daryl rolled his eyes, then his gaze returned to Rick. He looked him up and down, trying to hide his appreciation despite the hunger Rick could make out. He felt himself flush at the look. “I… don’t… I ain’t got this all figured out, Rick. You gotta understand that.”

“I know. I get it.” Rick looked at him steadily, drawing on reserves of patience. Nothing was set in stone; he knew that. But at least they were talking. “One step at a time.”

Daryl gave one of his nods of agreement, moving to grab another length of wood from the pile and switching on the saw once more. “I got work to do here, Grimes,” he said over his shoulder. “Go rehearse, okay?”

“Okay,” Rick agreed, figuring the moments of intimacy were as much as Daryl could handle for one evening. “I’ll see you when we’re done.”

Daryl paused, sending a glance his way and then returning his attention to his work. “Maybe.”

There was a wealth of meaning in that word and Rick heard it all clearly. 

_Maybe, if I can deal with it._

_Maybe, if I don’t have to get home to fight with my brother._

_Maybe, if I can trust myself._

Rick nodded though Daryl was already cutting through the board, then turned and went back to the auditorium. They’d made some progress. That was enough for right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for the beta to MaroonCamaro, to MermaidSheenaz for the best support ever and Eyeus for cheerleading. I don't know what I'd do without all three of you guys.


	14. I'll Bet That's True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rehearsal goes on as Rick and Daryl continue to get more comfortable with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter to you. I had a huge bout of writer's block and couldn't get anything accomplished for two weeks. So frustrating! But the damn has broken so I hope to keep going. Though I had trouble with it, it turned out to be 6,000 words -- exactly. I probably couldn't do that again if I tried, as Maroon said.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this interlude as Daryl and Rick continue to get closer!
> 
> Thanks to MaroonCamero (Happy Birthday!) for her beta help and also to MermaidSheenaz! I couldn't have done this chapter without you dears.

_I’ll Bet That’s True_

Rick went back to the auditorium, feeling much better than he had in days. He had managed to talk to Daryl. He had _kissed_ Daryl. The fact that he had feelings for Daryl was out there, known by the other man. And _reciprocated_.

It was an amazing feeling. 

Not everything was worked out. Rick knew that. Daryl was troubled. Rick himself didn’t have everything figured out about life. There was no certainty that things would go smoothly from now on. But Rick had hope. 

For some reason, he was able to get through to the other man, when others ran up against the brick wall Daryl put between himself and others. It was a heady feeling, one that came with responsibilities. Rick knew he couldn’t take it for granted or ever push Daryl farther than he was willing to go. 

Daryl put all of Rick’s considerable protective instincts on alert. He had become a cop to help people – now that he was disabled, he couldn’t do that. But he knew Daryl needed… if not help exactly, he needed _someone_ and for whatever reason, he responded to Rick, let Rick help him. 

He pushed through the auditorium doors, noting that more cast members had arrived. A glance at his watch showed rehearsal would be starting in half an hour. 

Michonne saw him come through the door and waved him over. 

“So?” she said, obviously asking about his conversation with Daryl.

“He’s okay. Stressed out because of his brother.”

“But his _face_?” Michonne asked, clearly worried about the other man.

Rick held up a placating hand. “He’s okay. Nothing serious.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“Not in so many words,” Rick half-lied. “It was like he said. Happened in a bar. He doesn’t want to talk about it. But there’s nothing to worry about.”

Michonne didn’t look convinced. “That doesn’t explain his attitude when he walked in here tonight.”

“I know. I guess Merle isn’t an ideal patient.” 

“It’s gotta be rough… losing his hand that way. But I take it he didn’t have a winning personality to begin with.” 

“No, he didn’t.” Rick sighed. He didn’t want to say too much, but he knew Michonne’s concern was as Daryl’s friend.

“Daryl enjoys working with us on the show,” Michonne went on, her eyes troubled. “The guy has his business and that’s about it. No social life that I know of. When we’re not doing a play, he sees Carol or me -- once in a while. Otherwise, nothing for himself. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out that it’s hard for him. He only had Merle and then he was in prison all that time. It took this long for Daryl to open up the little bit he has. I hate the idea that Merle might expect him to drop _this_ ” she waved a hand to indicate the theater and the people in it, “and just cater to him now.”

Rick shook his head; he couldn’t disagree. “It’ll take time. I think the best we can do is just make sure Daryl knows he’s important to us so he has reason to keep being here.”

Michonne rolled her eyes. “Yeah, fawning over him is just the thing.”

“Well, I didn’t mean it like that,” Rick said. He could only imagine how embarrassed Daryl would get if everyone started making it obvious that they cared about him and wanted him around.

Rick knew he would love to be able to do just that, if only the other man wouldn’t run in the opposite direction if Rick were to be so blatant. As it was, just putting his hands on Daryl’s shoulders required a subtle approach and a lot of patience. Daryl didn’t let people get close to him, even superficially. Having a relationship with him would be difficult, Rick knew. But he wanted to try just the same. It would be worth it, worth all the work and persistence. Daryl had barriers that no one had ever managed to get past, but it was clear that he wanted Rick to try. Though he wished he knew the reason for those barriers, the important thing was that Daryl wanted Rick to help him tear them down. When they came down, Rick would be there waiting for Daryl with open arms.

Rehearsal got started. Rick was happier than he’d thought he would be to be back on the stage. It felt good to be relatively pain free and able to go through his lines, to feed off the energy of the other actors. They were almost completely off book now and Rick felt as though he were channeling the character of Ken, not merely speaking memorized words but saying things that came naturally. 

“I like what you’re doing with your movements, Rick,” Michonne told him after he’d walked across the set using the arm crutches. “You did some work on it while you were home, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Rick smiled. “Had to pass the time some way.” He was pleased that his prep work had paid off. 

They were working on the scene where Ken talks about changing his mind about teaching at the local high school in the fall. Rick thought it was interesting that he couldn’t actually come right out and say how he felt, but couched it in joking terms that hid his pain, pretending teaching didn’t even mean that much to him. June was pushy, determined, ignoring how her brother felt. John and Gwen were encouraging, reminding him that teaching had been his mission in life and that he’d been considered one of the best teachers in their old district back in Oakland, California. In a long speech, Ken finally released his pent up tensions. 

Rick put everything he had into it:

“Well, once again Superfag’s plans fail to materialize. Yes, I was quite happy leaving our cozy abode in Oakland each morning and walking briskly into the Theodore Roosevelt High School. Very _Good Morning, Miss Dove_ , very _Good-bye, Mr. Chips_. And – by prancing and dancing and sleight of hand, I actually managed to keep their little minds off sex for one hour a day. But now I’m quite afraid my prancing would be quite embarrassing to them.”

Denise, as Ken’s sister June, said, “There was this little incident two weeks ago that has him running like a rabbit.”

Expressing Ken’s anger, Rick snapped, “It is merely that as I slowly realized that no English department was interested in my stunningly overqualified application, except the notoriously parochial home town…”

“Fine, that’s where you belong,” Denise as June reiterated.

“… I became aware that what everyone was trying to tell me, was that teaching impressionable teenagers in my present state,” Rick continued, gesturing to his legs, “I could only expect to leave quite the wrong impression.” Rick paused and looked toward the other characters, letting the hurt he’d felt when he had been told he could no longer be a cop come through in his voice. “You have no idea how much noise I make falling down.”

Andrea, as Gwen, had the next line, but she didn’t deliver it. She seemed transfixed and a quick glance told Rick the others were similarly affected by his acting in the scene. 

“Keep it going,” Michonne called from her spot in the third row. 

Andrea nodded then, in character, said her line. “Oh, bull. A big deal war hero? They’d love you!”

Rick rolled his eyes and spoke sarcastically. “I don’t think so. Though it seems incredible to us, they don’t even know where Viet Nam is.”

As only a sister could, Denise, as June, prodded him. “Why don’t you just admit you’re terrified and face it instead of...”

Rick delivered his next line with supreme haughtiness. “It is simply that I have developed an overwhelming distaste for chalk.”

The scene went on for a few moments, June pestering Ken to make a decision, demanding to know what he was going to do instead if he didn’t teach and asking him if he’d informed Jed about his change of plans. 

The scene moved to John urging Gwen and Weston, Glenn’s character, to hurry up and get ready to go along as Aunt Sally scattered Uncle Matt’s ashes. Rick took a seat center stage, dropping down onto the chair as though his prosthetic legs wouldn’t bend easily. At the moment he didn’t have a line, so he glanced out toward the seats in the auditorium.

Daryl had emerged from the workshop. He was standing next to Michonne as though he’d been consulting with her but his attention had been drawn to the stage. Rick kind of got the idea that maybe Daryl had been watching him. 

As it was, Daryl seemed to become aware of Rick’s gaze on him and he straightened up, meeting Rick’s eyes across the distance. 

Rick felt it then, the undeniable connection between them. In Daryl’s gaze there was a glint of appreciation, as though he liked was he was looking at. Rick felt his face grow warm and Daryl ducked his head in apparent acknowledgement, nodding as if to say he thought Rick was good up there. Rick knew he was blushing for certain then, and had to drag himself back to the ongoing dialogue between the characters lest he miss a cue.

When Michonne called the scene and everyone broke character, Rick climbed down off the stage and approached his friend. Daryl had settled into his habitual seat next to Michonne, slouched down as usual, with one knee pressed up against the back of the seat in front of him, so Rick moved into the second row across from him. He leaned over the seats and spoke softly.

“So you came up to watch, huh?” he asked, wishing he was confident enough to actually ask if Daryl had been there for his long speech about teaching and what he’d thought.

Daryl lifted one shoulder. “Couldn’t help hearing ya,” he said and Rick thought he detected a bit of sly teasing in the other man’s tone. 

“So?” Rick asked, sparring with him a bit, “was it too much?” 

“Nah. It – you were good.” Daryl mumbled the words, his glance dropping from Rick’s and a faint stain of color spread across his cheeks. 

Just when he thought maybe Daryl was getting a little more comfortable, he retreated and got shy again, Rick noted. Of course, they were right in the midst of the whole group of cast members. 

“Thanks,” he said, keeping his voice low. He felt an almost overpowering urge to reach out and clasp Daryl’s knee. It was close, right in front of him and with anyone else, a touch would alleviate the slight discomfort, but he knew Daryl didn’t like being handled unexpectedly. Instead, he ducked his head, trying hard to meet Daryl’s gaze, putting his feelings into his eyes, letting them do what he wished he could with his hands. 

Daryl responded, looking up at Rick from beneath his bangs, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The moment eased and things felt okay again.

After a ten minute break, they went back to the stage. Rick was conscious of Daryl’s eyes following his performance. It made him feel good in ways he couldn’t have expected. They got to the scene with Weston’s Eskimo folk tale that Philip had wanted to run through earlier. Glenn was believable as the slightly dim guitarist, talking sincerely about how a young Eskimo warrior had thawed his family’s supply of frozen caribou meat with a huge and apparently quite hot fart. The rest of the cast reacted with disgust and laughter. 

Michonne had blocked the scene so that John moved over to sit next to Ken on the love seat, bumping shoulders with him as they ganged up on the hapless Wes. 

“Philip,” Michonne called out, “play it up here with Ken. You know these guys are old friends from way back. You’ve always been close – remember the dialogue about sleeping over that comes in Act Two. Be playful with Ken here. And Rick – you too. You’re gay, you’ve always had feelings for John so let him touch you. Touch him back.”

“Okay,” Rick said, thinking about the stage directions. Even though Ken was in a relationship with Jed, he would be comfortable with affectionate, even flirtatious touching by his old friend, he realized. 

“This wouldn’t be out of character for John?” Philip questioned.

“No,” Michonne instructed. “I saw one production where the actor who played John accentuated his 70s lounge lizard persona – even to wearing a half unbuttoned shirt with gold chains – but he’s more than that. There’s an element of bi-sexuality in him. He ended up with Gwen, but as the dialogue in the play says, he messed around with both June and Ken in their younger days.”

To his credit, Philip seemed to understand what Michonne was getting at. He didn’t come on too strong but he slipped his arm around Rick’s shoulder and put a playful, slightly sexual tone into his words as they bantered with each other. Rick leaned into the other man though it wasn’t his natural inclination to do so. He wasn’t on what you could call friendly terms with Philip, but this was acting. And he was going to have to show more closeness with Shane who played his lover, he realized.

In a few moments, a scene with Ken and Jed came up. 

Shane pantomimed handing a pillbox to Rick, and pointed at his watch, indicating that it was time to take his medication. The stage directions indicated that Jed solicitously filled a glass with water from his watering can for Ken, who then took his pill.

Andrea, as Gwen, looked on and asked with great interest, “Oh, what are you taking?”

In character, Rick replied, “We get these special little birth control pills. In my condition, you can’t take chances.” Shane settled one hip on the back of the loveseat near him. 

“It’s Percodan,” he informed Gwen, voice serious.

She nodded. “That’s like a horse-size painkiller.”

Ever avoiding his reality, Rick’s next line was, “We try to spice up our lives, what we can.”

Andrea delivered Gwen’s next speech with vast sincerity. “Kenny, when we heard you were wounded, I called up – I had to go right to the head of the damn Naval Hospital in Philadelphia – and I didn’t get off the phone until he told me that Kenny’s sexual performance would be in no way impaired.”

Rick met her eyes. “Depends on what I’m expected to perform.”

“Don’t screw around, you know what I mean,” Andrea said, “your _sexual performance._.”

Going along with her, Rick continued agreeably, “… was in no way impaired.” He leaned back, letting his head rest on Shane’s belly behind him and looking up into his eyes. “Though we have had to cut out one show a night.”

As Jed, Shane went right along with him, stroking a hand gently through Rick’s curls.

“Good work, Shane,” Michonne praised. “You too, Rick.” 

Rick nodded, looking out toward the director and the man still slouching in the seat beside her. He wondered what Daryl had thought of that exchange.

For some reason, Daryl appeared to be paying less attention than previously. He had some papers in his hand, holding them up far enough that they had to obscure his view of the stage. Rick couldn’t help but think that seeing his interacting that way with Shane and probably in the earlier exchange with Philip somehow made Daryl uncomfortable. It wasn’t completely comfortable for Rick either. He was only acting, but with Daryl watching and their just blooming relationship, he did feel a bit funny about it. He was on stage, but he was touching other guys with more familiarity than he had been able to touch the one he really cared about. 

He decided that they would have to remedy that situation as soon as possible. 

Rehearsal broke for the night and everybody seemed to be talking at once, discussing the show, each others’ performances and plans for what they would work on next time. Rick felt good, though he was a bit tired. He was hungry too since he’d come straight from his doctor’s appointment without stopping for dinner first.

Beth was talking to Daryl when Rick made his way over to him. He figured she was asking him about what had happened when he heard Daryl’s response.

“Yes, I’m sure I’m okay. You should see the other guy.” He actually grinned as though he was putting effort into easing her concerns. 

“Daryl can take care of himself, Beth,” Rick added. 

She looked up at him, a blush obvious on her cheeks. “I know,” she said. She fiddled with her braid awkwardly, looking embarrassed.

“I’ll bet Daryl is a force to be reckoned with,” Philip said, his voice laced with false geniality. “I’m glad we don’t move in the same social circles.” 

Rick bristled but restrained his urge to say something to the arrogant man.

“You know it,” Daryl’s drawl was response enough. He didn’t get up from his seat, only glaring at Philip through his long fringe, but everyone who heard the exchange knew what he meant. 

“Now, kiddies,” Shane spoke up, “we’re all friends here, right?”

Rick was somewhat grateful for the unexpected support, though he didn’t think Daryl was as appreciative when he didn’t take his eyes from where Philip was standing. Andrea had her hand on his arm as if to physically pull him away from the scene he was causing, but Rick doubted her presence even registered for Daryl, he was so focused on Philip. He thought suddenly of the temper his friend had been in when he arrived earlier and knew if Philip pushed him, they could have an actual fight on their hands.

“That’s right,” Rick responded to Shane and including Philip in his gaze around at the rest of the cast. “We’re like a family here.”

Philip held up placating hands. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything.” His smile seemed phony. Rick decided the man couldn’t be trusted and was glad he wouldn’t be moving in his so-called social circles either.

“Best not,” Daryl growled under his breath. 

“So,” Shane said expansively, “anybody want to go out for some food?” His words fell into the sudden silence and Rick doubted many would be in the mood to go out to eat now.

“I’ve got Andre,” Michonne said, nodding toward where the little boy was asleep in the seat next to her. 

“We thought we might go get some pizza,” Glenn said, sliding his arm around Maggie’s waist. “Everybody’s welcome to join us.” 

Rick figured the invitation was perfunctory as he doubted Glenn wanted the whole group to actually come along. 

It ended up with Shane, Carol, Denise and Philip and Andrea deciding to go to the sushi place down the road. Daryl, looking as though the idea of sushi made him slightly sick, declined. Rick couldn’t even picture him in such an establishment.

“How about Ford’s?” he asked Daryl softly as the rest of the group headed up the aisle toward the exit. Only Michonne was still close to them, as she tried unsuccessfully wake Andre up.

“Better get home,” Daryl muttered, stuffing his papers into his backpack. 

“Merle?” Rick questioned.

“He don’t like his nursemaid to stay out too long,” Daryl answered wryly.

“Daryl.” Michonne turned back toward him. “You’ve been taking care of him day and night since he got home. You deserve to at least get a meal before you run back home.”

He looked toward her, then back at Rick, obviously torn. Finally he shrugged. “Can’t stay too long,” and it was decided. 

Andre was rubbing at his eyes, looking confused. “Let me get him,” Daryl said, reaching across Michonne to pick up the three year old.

Rick smiled as he easily hefted Andre up, his strong arms gentle as he cradled the half awake boy. The three of them made their way up the aisle and Michonne took care of the lights before they emerged into the parking lot. Rick felt his heart warm as Daryl carefully settled Andre into his car seat in the back of Michonne’s car. There were so many facets to this man he had come to care for. He waved as Michonne drove off, then looked toward Rick.

“I really shouldn’t,” he said, looking as though he was torn between going straight home and spending time with Rick. He made a move to climb onto his motorcycle.

“Don’t,” Rick said, suddenly not wanting to ride separately to the bar. He was partly afraid that Daryl would change his mind and actually head towards home and partly he just didn’t want to be that far from him.

“What?” Daryl looked confused.

“Ride in my car to Ford’s,” Rick clarified. “I’ll drive you back to your bike when we’re done eating.” He sort of felt silly, but the words were out before he thought through the offer.

But Daryl was nodding, already moving toward the passenger side of Rick’s Tuscon, so he unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

Daryl tossed his pack into the back seat and pulled his legs into the car, shutting the door with a slam. They were together, alone, in the sudden silence and privacy of Rick’s front seat.

“You sure?” Rick said, feeling the need to check again.

Daryl shook the hair out of his eyes. “Merle ain’t the boss of me.” Though he said the words, Rick suspected that in at least some ways, Merle very much did expect to run Daryl’s life.

But all he said was, “The service at Ford’s is pretty quick. You could get something to go for Merle and that would make him happy.”

Daryl let out a derisive. chuckle. “Yeah, food – along with drugs, alcohol and women – that’s what makes my brother happy.”

Rick went along with him. “Well, at least you’ll be bringing one of those home with you.”

He started the car but didn’t put it in gear. Instead he turned in the seat, his whole body wanting to be closer to Daryl, yet knowing he shouldn’t move that fast.

Daryl must have sensed something though. He glanced toward Rick, eyes diffident and nervous, though he extended a hand toward him, letting it fall on Rick’s shoulder. “Seems like hours since down in the workshop,” he said hesitantly. 

He looked away from Rick, glancing around as if to make sure they were really alone in the parking lot, unobserved. Then his eyes returned to Rick’s, more relaxed, warm and hopeful.

Rick leaned toward him. “It has been hours,” he breathed. “Too long.” His eyes asked a question and at Daryl’s slight nod, he closed the distance between them. Their lips came together easily this time, as if the repetition was making them both more comfortable. Daryl’s mouth was warm, open, so sweet. Rick hadn’t realized how hungry for him he had been. They kissed for endless moments there in the darkened parking lot, hands slowly moving to take hold of each other. Rick wrapped his arms around Daryl’s shoulders, trembling as he felt the fingers of both Daryl’s hands sink deeply into his hair. He let Daryl adjust the angle of his head, putting Rick right where he wanted him, slipping his tongue deep into Rick’s mouth, greedy for him. As shy as Daryl usually was now he seemed, having made up his mind, that he was letting at least some of his restraint go. It made Rick so glad.

After what seemed like a long time, they parted, pulling away with brief touches of their lips, as though neither really wanted to stop. Rick brought their foreheads together, savoring the closeness. Daryl seemed to be breathing heavily and he realized he was too. 

“That was so nice,” he murmured, wanting to acknowledge it in some way. 

“Never thought I’d be any good at this,” Daryl demurred. “Told ya, I don’t really know what I’m doin’.”

“You know I was married,” Rick said, still with their heads together. “I’ve never been with another man.” There were questions he wanted to ask but not only did he not know how, he still felt it wasn’t his place.

“Been a long time for me,” Daryl said, his voice so soft that only being this close to him assured Rick could hear. “There were guys I’d meet… usually just one time things. Never figured out how to do it any other way. Too dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Rick pulled back to meet Daryl’s eyes.

“Good way to get yourself killed, or beat up at least. Didn’t seem worth it after awhile.” He pulled away slightly, hands finding the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. After putting the window down, he lit one and Rick could see the slight shake of his fingers. “Not used to talkin’ about this shit.”

“Me neither,” Rick commiserated. “I spent a couple weeks just thinking how hot you look, figuring you’d punch me if you could hear my thoughts.”

Daryl scoffed. “Never thought you’d pick up on my… what I _thought_ were signals.”

Rick took a chance and with the tenderest of touches, pushed the hair back from Daryl’s face, moving the long strands behind his ear. Daryl didn’t flinch or seem as though he didn’t welcome the gesture. 

“Sorry I was slow on the uptake. This is all new to me.” Rick took a breath. “But you need to know – even before I met you, I decided that I wasn’t looking for another relationship with a woman. I’ve always…” he paused and when Daryl looked at him, nearly faltered. “I’ve always thought about men. Decided now that I was divorced, it was time to find out what I’d been missing.”

There was a moment of silence between them, as though each of them was digesting what Rick had said. He knew it might be eons before Daryl added to the conversation, having already strung more sentences together than usual, so Rick went on. 

“I’m glad we met. I think… we should find out about how all this works together.”

As he watched, Daryl took a long drag of his smoke. His eyes sank closed and he exhaled, as though thinking through Rick’s words. 

“Yeah,” he finally said, glancing briefly toward Rick. “Don’t know how… now that Merle’s home.” He dipped his head. “He don’t know, Rick. ‘Bout me.”

Rick nodded understandingly. It didn’t take much to imagine how Merle Dixon would feel about his brother liking another man. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. Like I said before, one step at a time.”

Daryl took another drag. “Hard part’s knowing what the fuckin’ steps are.”

Rick laughed. “You got that right.” His stomach gave a growl at that moment, reminding him how hungry he was. “How about we make the next one a stop at Ford’s for some burgers?”

Daryl nodded in agreement, relaxing as though Rick’s attitude took some of the pressure off. He took one last puff of his cig and threw it outside as Rick backed out of his parking space.

Later, after they’d finished hearty burgers and fries at Ford’s, Rick leaned back in the booth they had taken. “So, you feel any better than when you walked into the theater tonight?”

Daryl drained his beer. “Guess so. Starting to get wound up again, knowin’ I’m about to head back though.”

Abe came over then, with the carry out bag containing the meal Daryl had ordered for Merle. He thanked Abraham, then fished out his credit card and handed it over. When Rick reached to give Abe his own card, Daryl waved him off.

“This one’s on me. You can get the next one.”

Rick met his eyes, and felt himself flush at the warmth in Daryl’s gaze. He barely noticed that Abe walked away to go to the cash register. He leaned across the table so he could whisper. “This a date?”

Daryl snorted. “Rather spend it on you than on my brother’s illegal shit.”

Rick nodded his thanks, realizing that perhaps Daryl felt a bit more in control choosing to pay for Rick’s meal since he would soon be back where his brother would probably be ordering him around again. 

“Why didn’t Merle have to go to some halfway house?” he asked. 

“Damned if I know.” Daryl drew lines in his ketchup with his fork. “He told me the docs thought he’d be better off with family. He thinks it’s great, like he’s a totally free man, living just how he wants to with no curfew or shit like that. Can’t have drugs in no halfway house. He thinks he’s king of the world again.”

“Making your life miserable.” Rick hoped he wasn’t saying too much. He knew Daryl cared for his brother.

“Nothing new there,” Daryl said with a dry laugh. “But he’s my brother. Told you it was just him and me most of my life. Can’t turn him out on the street, one hand cut off and all. He’s just not used to me bein’…” he paused as if searching for words, “… having other stuff to do. I’ll get him used to it soon enough.”

Abe had returned and Daryl signed the credit card slip, thanking the man for the meal. 

Rick reflected on what Daryl said. Merle wasn’t used to his brother being independent, he had probably been about to say. Not used to him being grown up maybe. Still, Merle had adapted to life behind bars, he could probably adjust to his younger brother having more in his life now too.

“Any time you want to talk – or get away – just let me know,” Rick offered. “By the way, you want my phone number? Just in case?” he felt suddenly way too forward at the idea of them exchanging numbers.

“Got yours from the list,” Daryl informed him. “Too shy to call it,” he added, his voice dropping to almost a whisper at the admission. 

Rick pulled a pen from his pocket and pushed it toward the other man, watching him scrawl the numbers on his napkin. His fingers were work roughened, strong, beautiful to Rick’s eyes. They’d been both gentle and commanding when they wove into his curls and directed their kiss in the car earlier. He wondered how they would feel on his naked skin… 

“Rick?” Daryl was saying, looking at him funny. “Here.” He proffered the napkin with his number on it.

Rick shook his head and entered the number into his contacts list on his phone, unable to admit how relieved he felt just having a way to contact Daryl now. He put his phone away and met Daryl’s eyes. It felt real now, that they were _something_ to each other.

“You ready?” he asked. “Guess it would be pushin’ it too much to spend time playing darts tonight.”

Daryl groaned, agreeing. “Wouldn’t want Merle’s food to get cold.” They climbed out of their booth and turned toward the door. Rick drove the short distance back to the parking lot where they’d left Daryl’s motorcycle.

As Daryl reached for the door handle, Rick said, “Wait.” 

“I ain’t gonna sit here and neck with ya, Rick,” Daryl said, though his voice was more teasing than contrary. 

“I just want to make sure you’ll be here tomorrow night,” Rick responded, knowing Daryl was perfectly aware that he was backpedaling. If it was up to Rick, he would have been happy spending another hour kissing Daryl right there. 

Daryl looked away, something passing over his face that Rick couldn’t identify. “You think Merle won’t want you to?”

“Nah. Not that.” 

“What then?” Rick took a breath. “I just… I liked knowing you were out there tonight. Like someone was watching just me. I was hoping you liked how I was saying my lines.”

Daryl lifted one shoulder, still not looking at Rick. “Told ya you were good already,” he managed to get out. “Felt kinda… weird though.”

“What?” Rick wondered. 

“The way that asshole Philip was, and Shane.” Rick heard the breath Daryl took before the other man met his eyes. “They can… you know… cause it’s the play. I… I’m not…” As if he ran out of nerve, he shrugged again, looking away. “I’m no…” He let the rest of the word drop away, unable to be spoken aloud.

“Daryl, no,” Rick said. Had Daryl actually meant to imply he was _nothing_? Or at least that he wasn’t allowed to get that close to Rick? It had to be hard for him, Rick realized. Daryl was fairly new to theater in the first place and having feelings for someone while they were physical with someone else on stage took some getting used to. Lori had had a fit when Rick had a long kissing scene with another woman years ago – now that he remembered, it was the last play he’d done because her reaction had just been so hard to deal with. Was it that Daryl was _jealous_? If so, he probably felt confused by those feelings, unused to them as Rick knew he must be. It was okay, Rick wanted to tell him. It was even endearing. But he couldn’t say that without making Daryl feel more awkward.

He slid closer to him, leaning to capture his gaze “It’s okay. It’s just the show. Philip practically makes my skin crawl, actually. You are seeing a great performance on my part there.” He paused, then continued seriously. “I’d rather it was you being close to me like that.” Daryl met his eyes then, as if he were hanging on Rick’s every word. “One day, Daryl. One day we’ll be able to be like that. Comfortable. Easy. Used to touching.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth though, Rick worried about them. He meant them with all his heart but realized that being close was something that didn’t come easy for Daryl. He’d been trying to make the other man feel better, but had he said too much?

“You think so, huh?” Daryl said finally. “Told ya before, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’. You mighta noticed, bein’… touched… it ain’t easy for me sometimes.” Daryl let the words out in a rush, physically moving farther from Rick as he said them. It was as if he didn’t realize that Rick had noticed.

“I know,” Rick told him earnestly. “And it’s okay. We’ll work on it. I need you to know that I like the idea of you touching me. You don’t have to be like… like anybody else for me to want that, Daryl. I wouldn’t want to go to some gay bar and have guys all over me the way Philip was in that scene tonight. It’s you I’m interested in.” He paused, wanting to address the huge elephant that was sitting behind them in the car since Daryl had come right out and admitted what had always been obvious to Rick. “I know touch is hard for you. Not everybody likes or wants the same amount. I don’t want to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, Daryl. That’s a promise.” 

The eyes that met Rick’s then looked damp, emotional. Daryl went so far as to rub his hand roughly over them before he spoke. 

“Thanks, Rick,” he said, voice gruff with emotion. He hesitated, then leaned toward Rick, wrapping his hand around Rick’s neck and pulling him into a deep, wet, thorough kiss. Then, without another word, he climbed out of the car, onto his bike and revved the motor. 

Rick watched, his heart pounding from the thoroughness of Daryl’s kiss, his lips burning, his body flushed with arousal. All he could do when Daryl waved a hand as he sped off was lift his own weakly in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All lines being rehearsed are actually from the play, Fifth of July, by the late Lanford Wilson.


	15. If Anybody Says "Ashes," I'll Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A milestone of sorts is reached at rehearsal. Daryl and Rick have a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the beta work by MaroonCamaro and MermaidSheenaz. You guys are the absolute best.

_If Anybody Says “Ashes” I’ll Scream_

“Hey, Rick!” Shane called a greeting as soon as he saw Rick coming down the aisle, waving at him enthusiastically.

Rick nodded in response, while he cast his gaze around, hoping to spot Daryl. Shane was alone on the stage though.

“How’re you doin’?” Rick asked finally arriving at the foot of the stage. “You don’t usually get here this early, Shane.”

“Well, I got a call from Michonne and…” 

“Oh.” Rick had gotten the same call himself. Tonight, she had informed him, they were going to put the kiss in the scene. So far, they hadn’t done it, just passed over the kiss of greeting between Ken and Jed that came early in act one. He nodded, eyeing Shane, trying to gauge how he felt about it. He hadn’t really joked about it since the first rehearsal at least. Back then, Rick had wanted to kiss a man and had thought he would get his chance by doing so in the context of the play. But he had kissed Daryl and that was so much better than merely pretending for an audience.

Now that he thought about it, at least it wouldn’t be the first time he would lock lips with another man, glad that his first actual male/male kiss had been with someone he liked as much as he did Daryl. He had a feeling that he’d been wrong before, that he really wouldn’t know what it was like to really be kissed by a man if it was only for the play after all. The real thing was so much better. And it was fun secretly knowing that he was more experienced than Shane in this matter.

“So, you decided to show up before the rest of the cast, huh?” he asked, climbing up onto the stage.

“Yeah,” Shane acknowledged. “I figure it’ll be less awkward if we do it without everybody peering at us the first time. You know, get it over with?”

“Get it over with?” Rick asked, knowing he was baiting Shane. “Is the prospect really that awful?”

“Nah, man, it’s just acting.” Shane grinned, “but don’t you think it’d be easier this way?”

Rick had to agree. “Yeah, I actually do.” He didn’t say that his preference for trying it once while they were alone was because he didn’t want to do it the first time with Daryl watching.

“Okay.” Shane nodded and rolled his shoulders, shaking out his arms as if he were about to lift weights or something. “You’re there in your chair…” He waved toward the folding chair down stage right.

Hiding a grin, Rick went over to it and sat down, taking a minute to get into the character of Ken. He looked over at Shane who was now standing expectantly about five feet away from him. “Ready?”

“Y-yeah.” A curt nod. Shane was actually looking nervous.

Rick pretended to search in his pockets. “You want some breath spray? Gum?”

“Very funny. I brushed my teeth before I left home.” Shane paused. “You?”

“I had a liverwurst sandwich with plenty of raw onions for lunch,” Rick deadpanned. “Let’s do this, okay?” He settled himself, then said Ken’s line. “John is showing Gwen his home town – which should take about ten minutes.”

Shane moved on his line, heading toward Rick. “They came down to see me this afternoon. John was bragging about their garden in Carmel. It really pissed me off. Must have thrown that lavender over my back. The whole garden smells like an English bathhouse. Check it out early. It’ll be grown over by noon.”

That’s where the stage directions indicated they kissed. Shane leaned over and with only the slightest hesitation, touched Rick’s lips briefly with his own. Rick started to put his arms around Shane’s shoulders but he broke away too quickly. 

Rick didn’t say Ken’s next line, instead just looking up at Shane in confusion.

“What?” Shane asked. “You’re supposed to say ‘holy god, you smell terrific’.”

“I know,” Rick said dryly. “But is that it? That’s how you’re going to do it?”

“What do you mean?” Shane’s hand went to his mouth. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No,” Rick sighed. “It wasn’t that _bad_ , Shane. But it wasn’t that good, either. You act like you’re kissing your grandmother.”

“Now wait a minute -- ”

“No, you wait,” Rick interrupted him. “These guys are supposed to be lovers, Shane. This is us letting the audience know that. Kiss me like you mean it. We haven’t seen each other all day after I stayed up partying with John and Gwen. I’m gonna put my arms around you.”

Shane looked chagrined but after a moment, he nodded. “You’re right. You’re right. Okay.” He heaved a sigh, then walked back over to where he’d started. He rubbed his hands together, thought a moment as if readying himself and then nodded to Rick again. 

Rick repeated his line. “John is showing Gwen his home town – which should take about ten minutes.”

Shane started for him, this time making eye contact and keeping it as he approached, again saying the line about the garden. “The whole garden smells like an English bathhouse. Check it out early. It’ll be grown over by noon.”

This time when he leaned over, he put their lips together like he really meant it. It was a little startling, but Rick had been prepared. Shane’s mouth was different from Daryl’s, his lips fuller, but unlike Daryl’s there was no emotion behind the kiss. Rick didn’t feel anything so all he had to do was act, though he felt a little awkward and sort of guilty too, as though even if it was only acting, he was betraying Daryl. Rick knew that the way the chair was angled, the audience would be able to see it was a real kiss. It took some work to keep his mind only on the scene. Rick kissed Shane back, though he kept his lips closed, and wrapped his arms around him in a warm hug, letting go after a brief squeeze. 

“Holy God, you smell _terrific_!” He beamed up at Shane as if saying the line was some kind of reward for the way he’d committed to the kiss.

Shane took a step back and released a breath. “Better that time?”

Rick nodded. He had managed to stay in character, being Ken Talley in his head, not Rick Grimes who as recently as last night had his own lips plastered to Daryl Dixon’s in the parking lot outside. “Yeah,” he told Shane. That worked much better.” 

Shane rubbed a hand over his head, mussing his thick hair. “Okay. Unless Michonne wants… like… more or something, I think that’s it.” He threw a grin at Rick. “Okay?”

“Hey, you don’t have to stick your tongue down my throat,” Rick quipped, holding up a hand as if to ward Shane off. He realized that coming off as too comfortable would seem strange. As far as Shane knew, this was something as novel for Rick as it was for him. 

“Ewww,” the other man protested, making a face. 

Rick laughed. “At least you don’t have to let Philip put his hands all over _you_.”

Shane mock-shuddered. “Enough said. What is it with that guy? What does Andrea see in him?”

Rick figured that Shane had intended to make a move on the attractive blonde but Philip had beaten him to it. “She’ll probably figure out he’s a tool soon enough and then you’ll look a lot better to her,” he told Shane.

“Hi, guys,” a voice called out. 

It was Michonne. She’d arrived quietly and was leaning against the stage watching them with a calculating look in her eyes. Both men waved at her.

“So, you came early to break the ice?” she asked. She glanced around appraisingly. “I see the world didn’t come to an end.”

“Yeah,” Rick answered, smiling easily. “No apocalypse.”

Shane shifted a bit awkwardly but he nodded too. “Yeah. I think we’ve got it worked out.”

“Good. I knew I could count on you.” Michonne sounded pleased. “So when we start rehearsal, just go for it.”

“Will do,” Shane said. He jumped down off the stage and pulled his cell from his back pocket, looking eager to have something else to think about.

“How’s Andre?” Rick asked Michonne. 

“He’s good. I found a great new babysitter and he was watching a movie with her when I left.” 

“That’s good. He wasn’t scarred for life from coming to rehearsal last night?”

“Time will tell,” she said with a smile. “It’s a good thing he’s no older than he is or he might have been.”

“I thought Beth did a good job keeping him occupied when she wasn’t on stage,” Rick said. “You know, I’ll bet she’d love to babysit for you after the show ends.”

“That’s probably true.” Michonne took a sip from the water bottle she was holding. “So? Was it okay?” she asked, changing the subject. “No problems?”

“Nah.” Rick shook his head. “He was a little hesitant the first time -- ”

“The _first_ time?” Michonne looked shocked.

“Yeah. What you saw was the second one. Shane didn’t make it all that believable at first."

Michonne gave him an appraising glance. “But you did?”

“Acting is acting.” The way Michonne was eyeing him made Rick a bit nervous, despite being sure she had no way of knowing that the prospect of kissing another man wasn’t as big a deal to Rick as it was to Shane. “I’m not the one who showed up to audition without knowing what the play was about,” he reminded her. 

Michonne nodded. “I remember.” She tilted her head, considering. “You always did go for roles that would be more challenging,” she said finally, though Rick had the impression she had actually wanted to say something else. 

Did she suspect he had more than just a desire to play the role of a gay man in the show? Did he mind her thinking that? Rick found he didn’t really care – except for the fact that he knew Daryl wasn’t comfortable with people knowing. 

“Hey there! We’re here!” 

Their conversation was cut short by the timely arrival of Glenn and Maggie, with Beth tagging along. Soon Carol came through the doors too and in a few minutes, the entire cast had arrived. 

Michonne moved to talk to some of them and Rick felt his phone vibrating. He glanced at it, hiding a smile when he saw that it was a text from Daryl.

 _“Gonna be late. Merle,”_ was all it said.

Rick moved to the side of the stage so he could text more privately. _“But you told him you’re not going to be home early?”_

He found himself holding his breath as he waited for a reply. Earlier that day, Daryl had phoned Rick while he was taking his lunch break at work. Rick had been surprised by the call, thinking his shy friend wouldn’t make the first move in that department. They’d shared a brief but nice conversation and Rick had invited Daryl to come over to his apartment instead of going out after rehearsal that night. 

Daryl had hesitated, but Rick had convinced him – if they went to Rick’s they could have more time together than if they just went out to eat. Rick realized that Daryl liked the idea of spending time alone as much as he did. 

“Merle’ll just have to deal,” Daryl had said after a moment to think it over. “I told him I have a lot to do at the theater with the show opening next weekend. Gotta take him to physical therapy this afternoon and he’ll be exhausted after that. Probably won’t even know what time I leave for the theater.”

Rick had cleaned his apartment, running the vacuum, making sure all the dishes were done and even changed the sheets on his bed. He didn’t really know how far things with Daryl would go but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. Then, he’d gone shopping, picking up some Mazurt for Daryl, along with apple pie, his usual dessert at Ford’s, and for dinner, a frozen lasagna. The last item Rick picked up was a package of condoms.

It was funny – he hadn’t bought condoms in years. Lori had been on the pill after they got married so he hadn’t needed protection since the earliest days of their relationship. He and Daryl hadn’t talked about sex yet, much less safe sex, but Rick didn’t want to have to stop if things moved in that direction.

He still wasn’t sure about that whole aspect, even though his doctor had given him the okay to return to play practice and other activities. Rick had asked him about sex at his check-up the other day -- _“Not that I’m seeing anyone right now, but… you know… in case,"_ and Dr. Stookey had smiled and told him he should be all right. He reminded Rick that his chest pains were caused by swelling of the pericardium around his heart and that sexual activity wouldn’t cause him to suffer a heart attack. Nevertheless, Rick still felt a little worried about it. His heart had _stopped_. He had been in a coma. The department wouldn’t let him be a cop anymore. How did any of that translate to being able to have a normal sex life? He put the condoms in his nightstand drawer though. 

It might actually take months before he needed them. Last night, Daryl had finally come right out and said being touched wasn’t easy for him. That statement, as simple as it was, held volumes of meaning Rick could only guess at. Rick knew the other man had likely been hit; the flinching at unexpected touches had hinted at that, and Carol saying she had seen scars on his back served as confirmation of a kind. It must have been bad if it had left permanent marks on him. Rick had seen the result of abuse on kids and young adults he’d met through his work, how they had trouble trusting and forming relationships, but he hadn’t given a lot of thought to how someone who had been hurt that way might have problems with physical intimacy. 

It about killed Rick to think of anyone hurting Daryl that way. Whoever had made Daryl feel he wasn’t worth loving had a lot to answer for if Rick ever met them. But he had meant what he said when he told Daryl they would go at his pace. Rick would do everything in his power to let Daryl know he was worth it, that he deserved to be treasured, to be with someone in a way that wasn’t dangerous or risky. 

Rick’s phone finally vibrated again and he let out a sigh of relief that Daryl had responded. 

_”Not going home till I get good and ready.”_ There was even a smiley face. Rick found himself grinning as he texted back.

_“Take your time getting here. I’ll be waiting."_

They were halfway through the second act by the time Daryl walked into the auditorium. Rick was kind of glad that he hadn’t been there when he and Shane put the kiss in for the first time in front of the rest of the cast. He didn’t exactly feel awkward letting Shane kiss him but the smattering of applause by those who were waiting to go on stage would have probably bothered Daryl. 

Between lines, Rick tried to gauge his friend’s state and to his relief, he didn’t seem stressed out like he’d been the previous evening. He ambled down the aisle and took his usual seat next to Michonne, nodding to Carol who wasn’t on the stage at the moment either. His eye that had been bruised in the “bar fight” looked better too, Rick noted. 

An hour later, rehearsal ended and Rick turned down an invitation from Shane for a drink at Ford’s in honor of the milestone they’d reached that evening. Pleading fatigue, he said he had eaten before coming to the theater. Daryl simply did his usual head-down-disinterested-in-socializing routine as the group went their separate ways. As everyone got into their respective cars in the parking lot, Daryl, climbing on his motorcycle, threw a nod Rick’s way. A little thrill chased its way down Rick’s spine as he put his car in gear. He could see Daryl’s headlight in his rear view mirror the whole way home.

At Rick’s apartment building, Daryl followed him up the walk and through the door, then up the stairs to Rick’s second floor apartment. Neither of them said a word. Rick was nervous as a high schooler on his first date and Daryl was never very talkative anyway. Rick unlocked his door and swung it wide, motioning Daryl inside.

Daryl crossed the threshold but then hesitated, turning to watch as Rick closed the door and hung his jacket on the hook next to it. Daryl let the backpack slide off his shoulders and placed it on the floor under Rick’s jacket, then, stuffing his hands into his pockets, he gazed around the room. 

Rick realized that Daryl was looking toward the spot where they’d been standing when Daryl had kissed him.

“Everything okay?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low and easy.

Daryl lifted one shoulder. “Feels like… kinda like I’m returnin’ to the scene of the crime or somethin’.”

Rick moved to stand beside him, close but not touching. “You didn’t break any laws when you were here the last time.”

Daryl grunted as if he disagreed. “Easy for you to say.” He glanced at Rick out of the corner of his eyes. “Don’t know what made me do that.”

“Thought I made it pretty clear I’m not sorry you did it.” Rick leaned slightly to his left, letting his shoulder come into contact with Daryl’s. 

Those deep blue eyes turned fully toward him then. Daryl’s face was so open, so hopeful in that moment. “Couldn’t help myself.” The tone was a bit sheepish but the expression on his face showed Rick he was anything but sorry. 

“We can try it again if you want to,” Rick whispered. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of looking into Daryl’s eyes, remembering that their first kiss had afforded him his initial sight of them. 

As he watched Daryl’s face now, he was intrigued to see the man blushing, a light rose tint brightening his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “I never… never been on a date before.”

“First time for everything,” Rick said, leaning toward him, silently willing Daryl to lean in and claim his lips. 

Then it happened. Daryl was there, one hand capturing Rick’s hip just as it had that night, the other threading into his hair. Together they pulled him up against Daryl’s body. Rick went willingly, his lips opening for that warm, perfect mouth of his. He swayed and his hands went out, grabbing on to Daryl’s shoulders. If the other man minded, there was only a slight hitch in his breathing to make Rick aware of it, his hands tightening where they gripped Rick, his kiss deepening, his tongue slipping into Rick’s mouth. 

As Rick leaned into him, Daryl slid his hand around Rick’s waist, his stance widening to take Rick’s weight. Rick’s eyes closed and he realized he was hanging onto those broad shoulders like they were his only anchor in choppy seas. 

In many ways, this kiss was like the first. With no one around to walk in on them or see them under a streetlight, it deepened naturally, sparks snaking down Rick’s spine and pooling in his groin. He heard Daryl groan into the kiss and the deep, needy sound made Rick’s world spin. He realized that their lower bodies were pressing against each other, that he was getting hard. And that Daryl was hard against him.

At that moment, Daryl broke the kiss. He didn’t let Rick go, but he put some space between them, drawing a shaky breath. Rick tried to meet his gaze, but Daryl resisted.

“What?” Rick asked, trying to get his own voice under control. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.” The short response didn’t answer his question. 

“Daryl, it’s okay.” He tried again, cautiously stroking the bangs back from Daryl’s forehead. “Just tell me.”

Daryl took both his hands off Rick then, his eyes on the floor. “Don’t know how it’s supposed to work.”

As if that explained anything. Rick shook his head. “It works how we want it to.” He couldn’t help putting all his hopes into the words. “I got the impression you wanted to take things slow. That’s fine for me too.”

Daryl let out a rough chuckle. “Never took it slow before.”

If only Rick could see his eyes, he might have a clue how to proceed. “So… you _don’t_ want to take it slow now?”

At last Daryl looked up, self-conscious and mystified. “No. I mean – yes. Hell… “ He met Rick’s eyes. “Been so fuckin’ long… and I never… you know… worked up to it like this.”

“What do you mean?” 

Another eloquent shrug. “It’d just… happen. No kissin’. No _foreplay_. Just… two guys who clicked and went out a back door or into a stall and got down and dirty, man.” He glanced briefly at Rick, imploringly. “Didn’t have to have no… technique. Wasn’t about finesse. Only about who could get into whose pants the quickest.” 

From where Rick stood, that didn’t sound like a bad thing. The suspense was killing him. He liked the slow build up they’d been sharing, but as a man he could understand the idea of just getting down to the basics. Then a horrible picture popped into his head, of himself, twined on his bed with Daryl, doing something unspecified but highly exciting and suddenly he couldn’t breathe and Daryl was left having to call 911 as Rick writhed with chest pains…

Something must have shown on his face because suddenly Daryl was close again, looking right into Rick’s eyes, both hands on Rick’s shoulders. “Rick? You okay?”

He tried to smile but it was weak. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He took a breath. “I did ask my… uh… doctor… if I was… you know… if it was okay.”

“And he said it was?” 

Rick heard the hope in Daryl’s voice and his smile steadied. “Yeah. It guess it’s all in my head. I haven’t even… you know… jerked off. The doc says guys who’ve had heart things happen go through this.”

Daryl nodded like he truly understood. “I always… wanted someone to go slow with,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it was just too dangerous…” The words trailed off and Rick thought he looked sad.

“You said that last night too,” Rick ventured. “Did something happen?”

Daryl scoffed. “You could say that. Got caught a couple times. Bouncers, bar owners. S’hard to run with your pants around your ankles.” He blushed hard at that admission. “If it had happened anymore, Dale woulda kicked me out of my apprenticeship. So, I stopped. Wasn’t worth it.”

Rick felt bad for him. It must have been hard to have to sneak sex with strangers that way. Embarrassing. Humiliating even. “Wait,” he said then, “how long ago was this?”

Daryl sniffed. “Years. Told ya.”

“When you were learning carpentry?” Rick asked. He couldn’t help it; he needed the clarification. “How old were you?”

“Eighteen, nineteen, I guess.”

Rick’s mind boggled. It had literally been… what? _Twenty years_ since Daryl had had sex with another person? He couldn’t imagine anything more lonely, more undeserved.

“Wasn’t like I was the type who liked touching and that kinda shit,” Daryl said, in the same tone he’d used to pass off his being lost in the woods for over a week as something unremarkable.

Rick’s mouth was suddenly very dry. Had Daryl denied himself because he was that averse to touching? Was he saying he really didn’t want to? 

“But…” he tried to think of a way to word his question gently, “you do… sort of… want it now?”

For a long moment, Daryl continued staring down at Rick’s recently vacuumed carpet. Finally, he drew a resolute breath and looked up, meeting his eyes as though he’d found strength somehow. “Rick… I want to touch you. I want you to touch _me_. Never thought I’d… want that. Or get the chance.” His eyes darted away, then returned to Rick’s gaze. “I just… don’t want to fuck it up.”

Rick offered him a smile. “Told you that’s not gonna be a problem. I’m patient. Hell, you know I’m a mess here too. But the kissin’ seems to be going okay. I’ve got no preconceived notions of what’s supposed to happen. So don’t worry that you’ll be going against some agenda I have in my head. I told you, we’ll take this a step at a time.” He couldn’t help himself then. He leaned forward and claimed a brief kiss. “If you don’t mind me worrying I’ll pass out, I won’t mind you… takin’ a breather or whatever.”

Daryl put his hands on Rick’s waist, daringly letting his fingers slide under Rick’s t-shirt so they could stroke bare skin. “I promise not to give you a heart attack.” He kissed Rick again, with more confidence this time. 

His lips felt so good moving against Rick’s, so right. If the natural way they melded together when they kissed was any indication, he was convinced that somehow they would find their way.

After a moment, before the tender buzzing could start in his groin again, he pulled away. “I got lasagna,” he said, voice only the slightest bit shaky. “You want to have some?”

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed. “I could eat.” 

With a relieved nod, Rick moved into the kitchen area where his pan of lasagna was already in the oven. He’d cooked it to nearly done before rehearsal and all he had to do now was turn the oven back up to get it bubbling, like the package directions said. He did that, then went to the fridge. “I got Mazurt,” he told Daryl, pulling one out and offering it to him.

Daryl looked surprised, pleased. “Rick…” He came over and took it from him, their fingers brushing as the chilled bottle was exchanged. 

“Asked the doc about drinking too,” Rick admitted. “He didn’t say yes.” He felt a little foolish admitting that.

“One outta two ain’t bad,” Daryl said, taking the first pull of his favorite beer. 

Rick laughed outright at the teasing tone. “I can taste it on you,” he said, lowering his voice in what he hoped sounded at least a little sexy. 

Daryl actually laughed then, but his eyes looked interested. 

Rick pulled a garden salad out of his fridge and started setting the table, watching Daryl out of the corner of his eye as he worked. The other man wandered around the apartment, looking over the CDs by Rick’s player, thumbing through them, then checking the books on his shelf. He stopped and looked down at the coffee table just as Rick heard the oven timer go off. 

“What?” he asked, heading over to see what Daryl was staring at.

“You left my cigarette butt in there,” he said, pointing at Carl’s misshapen ashtray.

It was the only thing Rick hadn’t cleaned. At first, when he hadn’t been sure the other man would ever speak to him after that night, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to toss out Daryl’s ashes, but now even though there was no reason he wouldn’t be using the ashtray again, Rick still had been too sentimental to empty it.

He met Daryl’s eyes, shrugging.

“You’re nostalgic… about old cig butts?” Daryl asked incredulously.

“What can I say?” Rick asked, knowing his face was reddening.

“You’re a dork,” Daryl said then, beaming at him. 

“I cleaned the rest of the place,” Rick said as if that would make him sound any less of a complete fool. “Come on, let’s eat.” He waved Daryl toward the table that he’d set with his real dishes instead of paper plates. He’d lit two candles on the table too. If this was a date, he’d decided, he was going to go all the way.

Noticing them, Daryl looked at him again. “Yeah, you’re a real dork.”


	16. He’s a Brussel Sprout, But He’s *Alive*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "date" at Rick's apartment continues. Yes, dear readers, finally, real progress in their slow building relationship!!

_“He’s a Brussel Sprout, But He’s **Alive** ”_

"So, for a dork, how did I do with dinner?” Rick asked as Daryl pushed his empty plate away from him and leaned back in his chair.

“Not bad,” Daryl said, his voice soft but happy sounding. “For a dork.” He met Rick’s eyes. “How hard could it be to heat up a frozen thing?”

“I’ll have you know I have burned numerous frozen things in my time,” Rick said, pretending to defend his honor.

“Good to know,” Daryl said, nodding. “I ain’t much of a cook myself. I can fry stuff. Eggs, deer meat…”

“Deer meat? That you actually shoot yourself?” Rick could picture Daryl out in the woods, hunting for deer, getting them with perfectly placed bullets. “With, like, a rifle?”

Daryl shrugged. “I use a bow, but yeah.”

Rick revised his mental picture, Daryl morphing into a vision along the lines of Robin Hood. “You rob from the rich and give to the poor?”

“Crossbow, dork,” Daryl informed him. One side of his mouth quirked up in what Rick assumed was a smile. “I’ll take you out and show you sometime. If you want.”

“I like the sound of that,” Rick admitted, enjoying the almost shy, off hand invitation that Daryl had offered. What could be more manly that a guy who used a crossbow? 

Daryl ducked his head. His embarrassment was cute, Rick decided. But he wouldn’t push.

“Probably have to wait ‘til the play is over,” Daryl said. “With Merle comin’ home, I’m behind on the sets.”

“And we’re still kind of wobbly as far as some of the scenes go,” Rick responded. “Glenn’s been having some trouble getting his lines down. I think he’s spending a bit too much time with Maggie.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “She could at least run lines with him.”

Daryl nodded. “You need any help… with that stuff?” He made the offer despite looking slightly confused. “I don’t really…”

Though he had most of his lines down already, the idea of having Daryl work on his scenes with him was undeniably attractive, but he had a feeling that doing so would feel extremely awkward to the reserved man. “Maybe later,” he said, with a soft smile. “How about I clean up and then we can see where things go from there.”

He pushed back from the table and stood to begin gathering their empty plates and cutlery. Daryl helped him carry their dishes to the counter, leaning against it as Rick opened the dishwasher and began to load it. 

“I’ll finish this up while you step out for a smoke,” Rick told him, having noted that Daryl usually smoked after a meal. 

Daryl nodded and moved to walk past him. Rick was bending over to put a plate in the dishwasher and when he straightened, Daryl was right there. 

His eyes were intent on Rick’s face, smoldering a bit despite the mundane situation. “Food was good,” he said gruffly. The he moved in and kissed Rick quickly. “I’ll be back in a few.” 

Rick grinned, watching the other man as he strode through the apartment and out the door. He finished cleaning up and poured himself another glass of iced tea, getting another Mazurt out of the fridge for Daryl. He put their beverages on the coffee table and then, with only a brief hesitation at his own sappiness, moved the still burning candles there too. He switched off the lamp, letting the light from the kitchen and the candles provide sufficient illumination.

He was sitting comfortably on his couch when Daryl tapped on the apartment door. He pushed it open part way and peeked around it. 

“Come on back in,” Rick told him. He motioned him over, moving to show there was ample room on the couch. 

Daryl strode over, looking eager, and sat down right next to Rick. He brushed a hand over his mouth. “Didn’t smoke the whole thing,” he muttered. “Don’t have any gum.”  
He glanced at Rick. “Never worried about that kinda shit before.”

Rick leaned over and claimed a kiss. “Don’t worry about it. You taste sexy.”

Looking relieved, Daryl kissed him back. Staying close, he ran his forefinger over Rick’s lower lip. “I like this,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Your mouth,” he clarified. “It’s nice.”

Rick had always thought his mouth was a bit too pink, his bottom lip too full, and hearing that Daryl liked it was a pleasant surprise. He hadn’t given a lot of thought as to how he might appear to another guy, and more specifically, to Daryl. Most of his thoughts had been focused on how Daryl looked to him. For a second, he nearly came out with how much he liked Daryl’s mouth, his eyes, his muscles… then realized that would be too much. Instead, he simply opened his lips enough to suck gently at the finger still tracing his bottom lip, nothing that Daryl’s eyes seemed to lose their focus when he did that. 

“Rick… don’t go givin’ me ideas.” His voice sounded a bit shaky.

Rick stopped sucking but kept his lips around Daryl’s finger for a moment while he lifted his hand toward the other man’s face, gently brushing the mole above the corner of his mouth. With a little shiver, Daryl dropped his own hand from Rick’s lips. 

“I like _this_ ,” Rick confessed. He let his finger leave the mole to trace across Daryl’s open lips. Then he leaned in and their mouths came together, hotter and wetter than any kiss they had shared so far. 

It was so good, Rick thought, letting the sensations wash over him. He felt incredibly free, to finally be able to enjoy having Daryl in his arms. 

And have him in his arms he certainly did. They were as close as they could be there on Rick’s green couch. Rick had both his arms wrapped around Daryl’s shoulders and he loved the way Daryl’s hands were pulling him closer, one at his hip, the other at his waist, the fingers moving slowly, suggestively. They had already inveigled their way under Rick’s t-shirt -- and he was rapidly considering never again wearing a button up with long tails he had to tuck in -- and were rubbing cautiously over every bit of Rick’s skin they could reach. As diffident as Daryl was, now that he had Rick’s okay, he was beginning to show his fervor. Rick had had no idea his sides were an erogenous zone. But as those slightly rough fingertips teased and stroked and reached more and more of him, his flesh began to tremble, to break out in goosebumps and perspiration, and his heart started pounding.

He gasped out a breath as Daryl’s fingers pinched and rubbed in a particularly sensitive spot, pulling back in embarrassment. 

“What?” Daryl asked, looking truly concerned, like he worried he’d been doing something wrong.

Rick shook his head, realizing that his hair was falling over his forehead and into his eyes, mussed by their kissing. “It’s okay,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “I might be ticklish.”

Daryl’s fingers froze where they were. “I can stop.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Rick admonished. “We’re almost getting to second base here.”

“What?” Daryl looked genuinely confused.

“Second base,” Rick repeated. “You know. Touching above the waist.” At Daryl’s continued bewilderment, he continued. “You know, the bases. The sexual bases. It’s a baseball metaphor for how far people go.”

“I never played baseball,” Daryl said with only a trace of regret. Instead he seemed intent on recapturing Rick’s mouth. 

“You don’t have to know baseball,” Rick said, returning a quick peck but for some reason wanting to explain. “First base is kissing. We’ve done that. Second is feeling the girl’s breast – I mean usually.”

“Never felt a breast,” Daryl said with a huff, much like he would declare he’d never tasted gasoline, or baby poop. “Never wanted to even kiss a girl.”

“Well, I don’t know what the bases would be for two guys,” Rick admitted. “Maybe touching under the shirt though, like you’re doin’.”

“What’s third base?” Daryl asked, his fingers reaching for more of Rick’s skin, teasing gently at his ribs. 

“That’d be oral.” Rick got the words out despite a slight tremble sneaking into his voice. 

“Ticklish up there?” Daryl asked, his eyes as close to flirtatious as Rick had yet seen them. 

“That was as far from ticklish as it gets,” Rick told him. “Feels like there’s a direct line between my side where you’re touchin’ and my dick.”

“Is that a base?” Daryl said, focusing on making Rick squirm again. 

“D-don’t know,” Rick panted. “But don’t stop.” 

Daryl kissed him, hard and deep. “Ain’t stoppin’.” Another kiss. “But… thought we were gonna go slow…”

“Check the dictionary,” Rick said, his voice husky with arousal, “There’s a picture of us under ‘slow’…”

“I don’t know much about baseball, man, but I think the idea is to run around the bases fast.”

“Don’t try to confuse me,” Rick protested, leaning over to kiss along Daryl’s jawline. “There’s plenty we can do without hitting a home run.”

“Home run?” Daryl nipped at Rick’s earlobe. 

“In school we called it ‘going all the way.’ There’s a line in the play about it.” 

Daryl attacked his mouth again, this time slipping his tongue deep. Coming up for air a minute later, he was breathing harder when he said, “All the way…”

He leaned closer, his weight pushing against Rick, bearing him backwards down onto the couch. They ended up with Rick on his back, Daryl on top of him, closer than before. Rick’s legs were open and Daryl fitted himself in the gap, aligning their waists and groins.

The weight of him, the warmth, the strength in his body – it all felt wonderful to Rick. Having awakened in the hospital, his body broken and stitched back together, he’d felt disconnected from himself, ephemeral, only half the man he’d been, with half a life. For the first time since, he felt vibrant, aware, alive with possibilities. His body felt hopeful, flourishing, thrumming with arousal. Daryl was kissing him back to the life he’d lost before the shooting, but the world had changed, opened up with new possibilities. There were new tastes to savor, new goals to strive for, new ways to love. 

Their bodies were moving, lifting and diving, grinding together as they kissed, hungry mouths yearning and giving and taking. When their lips broke apart, they latched onto other areas; Rick nipped along the whiskered line of Daryl’s jaw, tasting sweat and smoke, loving the roughness under his lips. Daryl rubbed his face over Rick’s, back and forth, groaning at the feel of Rick’s stubble.

“Gonna get beard burn,” Rick warned him.

“Want it.” Daryl gruffed the words out, his voice heavy with desire. Rick marveled at the passion he hadn’t dreamed of that lurked inside the man as Daryl flattened his tongue over Rick’s cheek and swiped over the short bristles as if he couldn’t get enough. 

Lori used to make him shave before going to bed with him. She never wanted him to rest his full weight on top of her. Wouldn’t let him squeeze her too tightly.

Rick ran his hands down Daryl’s back, finding his hips as they moved languidly up and down, forward and back. He followed the curve of Daryl’s ass, grasping, squeezing, not even trying to be gentle. Daryl moaned in response. Rick slipped his fingers under Daryl’s loose waistband, seeking bare skin, and when he found it, he gripped harder, just to feel the sweet give, to find out how Daryl would react. 

React he did. Daryl quivered all over, sucking at Rick’s throat, his hips moving with greater purpose. Rick actually felt Daryl’s cock grow even harder against him. 

That realization sent a shock wave rolling over him. The primal stiffness prodding against him set Rick on fire. He’d been experiencing a slow build up; now he was hot all over, his own dick like a rock, needy and hopeful. 

It was a revelation. Rick hadn’t felt like this since the shooting. Damn, maybe he hadn’t ever felt like this. And more than a revelation, it was confirmation of his instinctive sense that being with a man was what he really wanted in his life. 

But not just any man. Daryl was the embodiment of the unfocused desire of a lifetime. Strong, honest, with a natural beauty and a giving heart, Rick was falling harder for him by the moment. 

Rick’s heart was irrevocably connected to his cock, desire and need were fused in him. They’d always been one and the same. He wasn’t a man who could just have sex with someone. He had to care about a person before he wanted them. He already cared so much for Daryl and the want had been building at the same time. Daryl’s touch, his weight, his movement, were recharging Rick’s libido, promising he was going to heal, to live, to love again.

He hadn’t been this hard in ages. Hadn’t had the need to try touching himself or seeing if everything still worked. Now he was aching, desperate, and all they’d done was kiss and grind on his couch. Rick felt strung out, like he would and could go on like this, climbing up and up for hours, simmering, ready but waiting. He felt no pain, no fear.

But he did flash on _later_ … and their words about taking their time. What if they just slowed down, stopped, called it a night? Daryl would go home. And Rick would be here, still hard maybe, still with his unanswered questions. Would he have to take care of it himself, like a teenager whose date hadn’t wanted to have actual sex and had sent him home with a raging need? Or would his erection just go away, like it had when he’d awakened from dreaming about Daryl? Would his body fail him again that way?

His hips jerked upward, seeking what they needed. Heat. Pressure. Friction. _Daryl._

He groaned in frustration. Neither of them was ready for heavy action. They’d both said they would pace themselves, but he hadn’t expected to feel like this. And they weren’t kids. They were grown men. 

“Rick?” Daryl asked breathlessly, eyes searching Rick’s face.

“I…” Rick had no words to express this, to fight through his confusion. “Sorry, I…” 

“Shhhh,” Daryl soothed him, pressing a kiss to his mouth, his nose, his brow. “I know. I c’n tell.” He let his body drop down into Rick’s, his hips slowing but still insistent. 

Rick’s cock responded, jerking up in search of sensation. Rick worried he’d just spill without warning or something equally embarrassing. “Didn’t mean to run those bases so fast,” he gasped out. “Don’t know what’s supposed to happen, what I should do…”

Daryl bumped his nose against Rick’s, his lips curving upward. “Don’t worry. I got this,” he whispered, like a secret, a promise. He lifted his hips, one hand sliding down between them to fumble at Rick’s belt. Like magic, like he’d done this a thousand times, he got Rick’s pants undone and his zipper down in seconds, pulling and making adjustments until he’d bared Rick just enough. 

As the cooler air ghosted over Rick’s heated shaft, he moaned gratefully, arching upward. He bumped into the backs of Daryl’s fingers, realizing only then that his partner was undoing his own pants too, yanking at his baggy jeans to get them out of the way. Rick couldn’t see much, just the glistening tip, moist with eagerness. 

The idea of Daryl hard for him went to Rick’s head like some exotic liquor. He realized his own dick was leaking. When he felt Daryl take hold of it, his grip so perfect, so confident, Rick nearly lost it then and there. Daryl eased down again, slightly to the side so he had room to take care of Rick. He nuzzled his way to Rick’s throat, mouthing and kissing as his hand worked in Rick’s pants. Daryl’s hips were moving, his own cock sliding against Rick’s flank. Rick rolled toward him, needing more contact.

As Daryl’s hand worked, Rick felt the nudge and heat of Daryl’s own cock, bare and solid so close to his own. Daryl was stroking Rick with purpose, with knowledge gained in sordid back alleys and furtive coupling that he freely shared with Rick now, leading the way, gentling Rick through his need, encouraging all the sensation Rick’s healing body could stand. All Rick could do was let Daryl take over, his own hands simply continuing to clasp and clutch at Daryl’s ass, every grind and flex of it, the heat and sweat and muscle and sinew like something pure and perfect Rick never wanted to let go.

Daryl’s fingers wrapped more tightly around Rick’s shaft, letting his own erection hump against Rick’s hip. He was taking care of Rick, making sure his needs were met. 

“Daryl,” Rick gasped out in concern. 

“I’ve got you,” Daryl told him, his voice more assured than Rick had ever heard it, heavy with meaning and intent. He drew himself along Rick’s side, getting his friction that way, releasing a groan of satisfaction. “I’m good.” He shook the hair out of his eyes and locked his gaze with Rick’s. “You?”

Rick nodded, held in the other man’s spell, his strong arms. “Yes,” he breathed, the only word he could manage. He was losing the ability to think, but he could feel. Every nerve ending was open wide, eager for the sensations Daryl was offering him. It all centered in his cock, spreading outward like a wave, drawing him into the vast ocean he’d been pining for all his life. This was what he was made for, a man’s arms, a man’s hands, a man’s hard cock digging into his hip, a man breathing over him, taking care of him, lifting him up and bringing him down, proof of life for the missing man he’d been his entire existence.

Daryl jacked his cock, down and back up, his strokes perfectly tight and complete, thumb swirling over Rick’s leaking slit, coaxing him upward again and again until finally Rick’s hips bucked, his back arched, lips parted, and he came, gasping out Daryl’s name. 

“That’s it,” Daryl told him, still handling him, easing him through, bringing him down and knowing just when the his touch became too much. At that point, he reached around for the shop rag he carried, mopping at Rick’s belly and then positioning it to catch his own release as he began to finish against Rick’s hip. Rick held him as best he could, loving the way Daryl’s ass got slick with sweat as it pistoned and jerked under his hands, how at the end he stiffened in Rick’s arms and came silently, his lips open against Rick’s throat. 

They rested together for awhile. Rick felt boneless, complete. He had thought maybe he would never feel this way again. That if he tried, he would fall apart or not be able to come or even have an attack of pain instead of pleasure. But he’d been worried for nothing, it seemed. He was okay. And Daryl had made him that way.

He smiled against Daryl’s sweaty hair, happy at the thought of what they’d done together, touched by the care Daryl had taken with him. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head and felt the answering press of Daryl’s lips against his neck.

“Daryl,” he began, noting his voice was hoarse and his throat dry. He tried again. “Daryl?” 

The other man just nodded. Rick dragged a hand up, stroking Daryl’s hair, his cheek. Daryl seemed to turn into Rick, as if to avoid the affectionate touch. Rick settled for rubbing his shoulder lightly.

After a moment, Daryl shifted, half sitting up to swipe again at his own groin and Rick’s. Once he had tidied up, he moved so he could pull up his jeans and fasten them. Rick watched him, noting that Daryl didn’t seem to be able to look at him now and concluding that probably all the fastidious mopping had been just so he’d have something to do to avoid having to talk or make eye contact.

Daryl just sat there on the edge of the couch, fumbling with his rag as if he didn’t know what to do with it. His cheeks were faintly red and Rick didn’t know if that was from the heat of their activity or some embarrassment that had come over Daryl now that they were done. 

He sat up too, hastily doing up his zipper but not bothering with his belt. They didn’t touch. They didn’t speak.

Finally Rick drew a breath, knowing it was up to him to break the silence. Who knew what was going on in Daryl’s head, now that his confidence seemed to have once again deserted him? Was he worried he had gone too far? Had Rick done something wrong? Did he just not know what to do now?

Rick figured the last was most likely. From what Daryl had told him, his past encounters hadn’t allowed for anything like words of endearment or cuddling once the deed was done. Rick leaned toward him, letting his shoulder rest against Daryl’s. He cleared his throat.

“That was… so good,” he managed, reaching for his forgotten glass of tea on the table. He gulped at the watered down drink, noting that Daryl hadn’t moved or reached for the beer Rick had put out for him either.

“Beer’s probably warm by now,” Rick said, keeping his voice soft. 

Daryl gave a grunt of reply. He drew a deep breath as if he needed to steady himself and finally spoke without meeting Rick’s eyes. “You okay?” he asked. “Not in any pain or anythin’?”

“Not a bit,” Rick answered, trying to put all his satisfaction and relief into the words. “Can I get you another beer? Or anything?”

Daryl shook his head, got to his feet. “Better go,” he said gruffly. “S’late. Merle’ll be pissed.”

Rick stood too, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He’d thought they could at least sit together here for a while. Maybe talk – not that Daryl was that likely to want conversation but it seemed weird to Rick not to be able to say _something_ about what happened, what Daryl had given him. Probably the other man wouldn’t want Rick to get all flowery or moon about it, but still… Rick couldn’t bear to not have him know what it had meant to him. 

He wasn’t sure himself what to say though. ‘Thank you’ was something you said to a waiter that brought your meal, not the man who’d shown you were healed enough to have actual sex again after life threatening injury. But Daryl wasn’t his physical therapist either. Daryl had hidden depths that Rick wanted to learn more about and old pain that Rick wanted so much to ease. If only Daryl could let him in. He couldn’t say they hadn’t made progress tonight. But he didn’t want to take one step forward and two steps back.

Daryl had crossed the room and bent to pick up his backpack, stuffing his used rag into one of its pockets. Rick moved swiftly to catch up to him, though part of him feared he would spook him even more if he wasn’t careful. He reached out a hand but stopped short of grabbing Daryl’s shoulder.

“Daryl, wait.” He knew the pleading was clear in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. “Don’t walk out on me.”

Daryl seemed to freeze as if he hadn’t realized that was how his leaving appeared to Rick. He didn’t look up at him, but at least he wasn’t reaching for the door.

“Not walkin’ out,” he said, so softly that Rick had to process the faint words after they were out before he really understood them.

“Is this how it always was before?” Rick asked him gently. “Once it was all over, you and the other guy would just go your separate ways?”

A simple lift of Daryl’s shoulder was enough of a reply. 

Rick stepped closer, still not touching him. “Doesn’t have to be that way with us. Nobody’s gonna bust through the door and beat you up. You won’t get arrested. I didn’t have a heart attack or anything. It’s all good.”

Daryl heaved a sigh. “Told ya I’m not good at this. Never… had no way to learn.” He finally turned to glance at Rick briefly before his eyes found the floor again. “This was the most kissin’ I ever did, Rick. Didn’t mean to get us all overexcited.”

Taking a chance, Rick put a careful hand on Daryl’s shoulder, relieved when he didn’t flinch or shrug it off. “You were wonderful.” Daryl glanced up in disbelief and Rick smiled, trying to ease Daryl’s discomfort. “We’re two grown men. We like each other. We said we’d go at our own pace, not be like some glacier taking a century to get anywhere.”

Daryl snorted at the image.

“The ice is broken, so to speak,” Rick went on. “I don’t have to… you know, worry about if my body is working now.” He stepped closer, holding Daryl’s gaze. “You took good care of me. We… did something here. Made something. We _are_ something now, Daryl. To each other. That’s good. That’s important.”

Daryl suddenly crowded close to him, dropping his bag to wrap both arms around Rick’s waist. “Your body’s workin’ _fine_ ” he said before covering Rick’s mouth with his own.

The kiss became long and deep. Rick wanted to lose himself in it, to drag Daryl back to the couch so they could start all over again.

But then Daryl broke it off. “Still gotta go.”

“I know,” Rick sighed. He knew it was true and he felt better now, no longer worried that Daryl was quite so uncomfortable. They had made some headway tonight for sure, in more ways than one.

“See you tomorrow?” Rick pressed. “At the theater?” He wanted to suggest they make plans for their next time together, to ask if Daryl could stay overnight with him soon, but he knew that would be putting too much pressure on him. 

Daryl gave a short nod. “I just hope Merle ain’t all pissed off at me for tonight.” Then a look of concern crossed his. “Or like, if he needed something while I was over here.”

“He’ll be fine,” Rick attempted to reassure him.

“Me havin’ somebody to be with has never crossed his mind, Rick,” Daryl said, his eyes revealing the truth of that, and the loneliness it must have brought to him. “’Specially not a guy. I… don’t know what he’d do…”

“He doesn’t need to find out,” Rick said. “He won’t.” He kissed Daryl again. “But you deserve to have someone.”

Daryl didn’t look entirely convinced. He slung his bag onto his shoulder and with one more nod in Rick’s direction, he was out the door. 

Rick just stood there a moment, processing the positive aspects of their evening. Rick only wanted to see Daryl happy. His brother was what he was, but Rick would do everything he could to see that he wouldn’t make trouble for Daryl.

He finally crossed to his coffee table, and blew out the candles, then headed to take a shower and get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all thanks to my wonderful betas, MaroonCamaro and MermaidSheenaz. Your suggestions, support and kindness are what keep me going with this. Maroon's off hand comment about them getting to second base not only inspired some of their conversation but pushed the chapter farther than either of us realized at the time! Sheenaz, your praise is addictive and I can't tell you how much your loving this story means to me.
> 
> And oh, I wanted to say that I have no problem with Rick's beautiful mouth, but I thought maybe he would himself, just a little bit. Or at least not realize it's as cute as we, and Daryl, think it is.
> 
> Next chapter -- we will again see into Daryl's point of view and there will be Merle.


	17. An Overpowering Distaste for Chalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's pov as he goes home after being at Rick's that evening. Merle make an appearance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter being so late. I got a bit bogged down. In June, it would have been my 20th wedding anniversary and I went back home to visit my late husband's grave so I wasn't in the mindset to do writing for awhile. I've found if I break my stride with this story, it's hard to get back on schedule. I'm part way through the next one though so it will definitely not be as long a wait for my dear readers for that one. The plot will be thickening in it too so I won't make you wait.
> 
> As always, betaed by the amazing MaroonCamaro and MermaidSheenaz!

_An Overpowering Distaste for Chalk_

Daryl barely took notice of the road as he made his way home from Rick’s. It was dark and quiet and the roads were mostly free of traffic. He didn’t have to worry much about watching the road, which was good, because all he could think of was Rick.

Rick had felt so good in Daryl’s arms, so warm, so strong. And he let Daryl kiss him and touch him. It had been so long, Daryl had forgotten how good another solid male body against him could feel. 

He had not realized how hungry he was for human contact. To feel the warmth of another living, breathing person close to him. It was something he had avoided most of his life but now it was as if his body was waking up and realizing it wanted to touch and to be touched.

Daryl had been the one to do most of the touching. Rick had seemed overwhelmed and Daryl had let muscle memory take over, undoing their belts and pants, using his hand on Rick. It had felt amazing to him – he’d barely looked but his hand had memorized the feel of it. He’d felt so powerful when he had taken Rick over the edge, so happy when it had worked out for the other man. Rick had been worried but Daryl had sensed his body would work perfectly. 

Just the feel of Rick’s body going rigid with orgasm had been enough for Daryl. He had been fine rubbing himself against Rick’s hip. After all this time, he worried he would finish too soon or mess things up so it was good they took it just that far tonight.

But he knew he could trust Rick, that Rick would not betray him, would not shove him away in disgust, would not return Daryl’s tenderness with brutality, would not send Daryl away wounded in both body and spirit. 

His body ached pleasantly. His face stung a little as the wind whipped over his cheeks where he’d rubbed against Rick’s beard stubble – and Daryl loved it. He needed a shower but part of him didn’t want to wash off the scent of Rick’s sweat and come, didn’t want the glow to fade from his face. 

But Merle would probably notice, if he were awake and sober enough to. Somehow, he would have to keep himself in check, not act like some love struck teenager. That thought made him grimace because in truth Daryl didn’t think he was about to suddenly throw off a lifetime of reserve and become an open book. He had always kept his feelings to himself, hiding everything, all the pain, the despondency, the worthlessness and the fear, even from Merle. He really didn’t know any other way to be. If people knew you valued something, they’d try to take it from you, or tell you it wasn’t worth what you thought it was. If you let them know you wanted something, they’d laugh at you for being weak. He’d had to hide the few good things he had from the rest of the world too, and not just material things. 

Daryl finally got home, turning off his engine before going up the driveway, in the hopes that if he were quiet, Merle might sleep through his arrival. He parked his bike and smoothed his hair back out of his eyes, then crept quietly into the house, missing the time he’d had it all to himself. 

Merle was the kind of person who seemed to expand to fill the space he was in. He was a big man, tall, muscular – even more so now than when he’d gone into prison -- and not particularly neat around the house. Daryl liked to be tidy but now Merle’s clothes were all over the furniture, his dinner plates scattered around as well and Daryl was as likely to trip over a beer bottle as not. Anything Merle could see he figured was his to do with as he wished, whether it was the food in the fridge, the couch, the tv or even Daryl’s own bedroom. It wasn’t that he minded his brother using the place exactly. It was just that Merle was so _there_. He tended to pick through Daryl’s possessions, limited though they were, reading a few pages of this or that book and leaving them wherever he was when he got bored, picking through his tools and testing them out, smoking his cigarettes and Merle had thoroughly searched the house for booze within his first twelve hours out of prison. 

A part of Daryl was glad his brother was home. He had missed Merle. But a lot had changed in his life in the six years his brother had been inside. Daryl had not realized how much until he had his brother home with him again. And it was obvious that Merle had not expected Daryl to have changed either.

He anticipated they would take right up where they had left off, with Merle running the show, deciding on what they’d do, where they would go and who they would see. That had been fine for Daryl at one time. He hadn’t had friends of his own and he didn’t have anything to fill his time except to follow Merle around. It had literally never occurred to him to think he should have things for himself. Except for hunting, something he had done both with Merle and alone, and learning his trade, which Merle had wanted no part of, Daryl had stuck to Merle’s routines, believed Merle’s views on life. When his brother told him that nobody else would ever care about him, Daryl had no reason to think otherwise. 

For months, closer to a year, when Merle had first been sentenced, Daryl had barely left the house, except to work. He had been so used to only going where Merle had wanted to go that it never crossed his mind that he was free to choose his own pastimes. When Merle had been in the service or spent a few weeks in jail, Daryl had just waited until he got out, the things went back to what passed for normal. But with a ten year sentence stretching ahead of him, it finally sank in that he would have to change or sit in the house alone, though he had at first enjoyed the quiet. Merle talked all the time, which was fine with Daryl because he didn’t like to talk, but he hadn’t been able to think while hanging with his brother either. Gradually, Daryl had started going out to a bar or to get some dinner on his own. He’d gone to the library and later to buy books at the used bookstore in town. He had even gone to the movies a few times, all the while imagining how Merle would have made fun of him for doing it. And later, when he met Carol he had spent time with her and her daughter and had let Michonne talk him into helping at the theater. He liked having a few people in his life. 

He knew Merle didn’t understand. Merle didn’t have friends. He had drinking buddies, drug buddies, women he slept with, but that was it. Merle had told Daryl countless times that he was the only one who loved him yet Daryl had come to understand that the only person _Merle_ seemed to actually care about was Daryl.

That first year, being without Merle had left a hole in his world, one that Daryl hadn’t had the first clue how to fill. Merle’s affection was the only solid thing, the only thing that could be relied upon in Daryl’s life. Merle’s caring wasn’t soft or tender or sympathetic; it was rough around the edges, tough and uncompromising. It was based on Daryl being agreeable, going along with Merle, backing him in any fight, laughing at his jokes, being exactly what Merle expected him to be. But it was there. Merle might not be the kind of brother who was understanding or compassionate but it had been the one constant in Daryl’s life. Finding out he had lost his hand had rocked Daryl to his core, terrified him, introduced him to the idea that Merle – his hard drinking, fist fighting, larger than life brother – could ever be vulnerable. 

Daryl had spent a lot of time being mad at that stupid clean cut deputy who had come to haul Merle off to jail, he recalled, never dreaming that same man would come back into his life when he’d least expected it. Daryl had been relatively content. He had Carol and Michonne, the other people at the theater like Hershel who was kind and his customers who were appreciative of his skills and work ethic, and they had filled his time and his empty life in Merle’s absence before he even realized it. Daryl had thought having a few friends and a decent business was all he would ever have, that those few things were more than he deserved. But seeing Rick at the first audition had made everything change. 

He had made it all the way to the door to the bathroom when Merle’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“What the hell time is it?” came the gravelly voice, loud and annoyed. There was a thud and a crash and Merle emerged from his room, rumpled and sleepy, peering at Daryl with wide blue eyes and a cantankerous expression. “What’re you doin’ sneakin’ in here in the middle of the night?”

“Ain’t the middle of the night,” Daryl told him. “Not even one o’clock.”

“One is the damn middle, little brother. Don’t you know nothin’?” Merle scratched his stomach with his left hand, and Daryl knew he’d be willing to argue when the exact “middle” of the night actually was ‘til the birds were singing and the night itself was completely over. 

He remembered a time when they’d been out in the woods, a long way from home. Why, Daryl didn’t even recall, but they had been arguing about a creek they were getting close to. Daryl had said it was Yellowjacket Creek, but Merle insisted it was Sawhatchee Creek arguing just to be right, never for an instant crediting that Daryl had a sense of direction or might actually know what he was talking about.

“That pussy theater keeps you out ‘til all hours, don’t it?” Merle pushed past Daryl and went into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door as he unzipped his pants and took a piss in the toilet. “What they got that I ain’t got?” he yelled over the sound of his pee. 

Daryl headed into his room. He wanted to to take a shower but if Merle was in a talkative mood… 

“I know!” Merle had reappeared in Daryl’s doorway. “You got some bitch you took a likin’ to!” He leaned on the doorjamb, giving Daryl a once over. “I c’n tell, baby. You got a look abou’cha.” 

“Shut up, Merle.” Not that any requests of that nature had ever gotten Merle to stop. Daryl was suddenly exhausted, tense. The last thing he wanted was for Merle to corner him this way.

“Tell me about her,” Merle went on suggestively swaying his hips. “You know ol’ Merle ain’t got no pussy since he went inside.” He licked his lips. “Tell me all about her. Let me live through you – has she got big tits?”

Daryl was glad he was facing his dresser. Merle couldn’t be farther from the truth. Yet as distasteful the idea of his brother imagining him with some woman was, it might be better to play along. 

Merle moved into his space, leering, eager for any gossip Daryl might throw his way. “It’s that one you talked to on the phone, right? Carol is it?” 

He couldn’t help his horrified reaction to Merle’s guess. He didn’t want his brother disrespecting Carol even in his imagination. 

“Merle…” 

“That’s all right, bro,” Merle said, nudging Daryl’s shoulder with a conspiratorial wink. “You want to keep her all to yourself. I get it. I’m just glad you finally getting some tail.” He clapped Daryl on the shoulder, chuckling to himself, and turned to head back out of the room. “Whoever she is, find out if she’s got a sister!” he called before slamming his door shut. 

Daryl was relieved that Merle had run out of steam and given up so quickly. He didn’t want to lie, manufacture a woman he had been sleeping with. If he were true to form, Merle would have forgotten their conversation by morning anyway. At least he hoped so. Daryl wasn’t really sure how much of his brother’s lewd suggestions he could put up with.

After Merle had wandered back into his own room, Daryl sighed in exasperation. He tugged off his clothes and laid them over the back of the chair by his bed, dropping down onto the mattress. He decided to shower in the morning, not wanting the noise to cause Merle to wake back up and ask more questions. Besides, with Rick’s scent still on him, he didn’t feel so anxious and lonely.

Daryl ran a hand down his body, closing his eyes as he imagined the way Rick’s hands had felt on him. He gripped his spent cock, closing his eyes in satisfaction. He liked him so much – Rick was gentle, kind, passionate, and for some reason, he seemed to like Daryl of all people. Daryl vowed he would never hurt Rick or make him sorry that he had decided to be with him.

He realized that meant he could never tell his brother. Merle wouldn’t understand at all. His mindset just didn’t allow for gay men to even exist, much less for his brother to be one of them. While Merle talked a good game about how important Daryl was to him, he had no illusions that Merle would accept that about him. How many times had Merle teased him about being weak, called him a pussy or worse? Used that awful nickname “Darlina”? He’d already told Daryl a few stories about the men in prison who’d turned to each other for sex behind bars. Merle had been proud of the fact that he’d put a guy in the infirmary his first week inside for trying to touch him. 

No, Merle could never know. 

Daryl didn’t worry about what Merle would do to him if he found out. He could hold his own in a fight with his brother. But the idea of Merle turning his anger toward Rick was unthinkable. 

Forcing that worry from his mind, Daryl thought instead of the way Rick’s lips had felt against his own. The kissing had been amazing, not at all awkward as Daryl had thought he might be at it. Maybe he was, and Rick just liked him anyway.

Daryl drifted off to sleep thinking of Rick’s kisses.

 

Merle was already up when Daryl emerged from the shower that morning. He was banging around in the kitchen, trying to make coffee one handed, cursing when he dropped things. Daryl hastily pulled on his clothes and went to help him.

The counter was a mess of spilled coffee grounds and water. Daryl just sighed and took over as Merle backed off, slumping into a chair with a surly expression. As the coffee began brewing he rubbed his face and stretched his legs out across the floor. 

“Doc said my new hand’ll be ready in a week,” he offered, accepting the mug of coffee Daryl sat in front of him. 

“Might take some getting used to,” Daryl said, opening the refrigerator to get out the milk. 

“Yeah.” Merle sighed, sounding resigned. He poured milk into his mug, managing not to spill it, then stirred his coffee and took a sip. “Therapist keeps wantin’ me to practice stuff like doing the coffee. Told her I wasn’t no good at doing kitchen stuff when I had both hands. She’s a hottie but not so friendly, if ya know what I mean.”

Daryl just sipped at his own coffee. “You do need to get used to doing things one handed, Merle. Those prosthetics aren’t exactly like regular hands and fingers.”

“Dammit, I know that,” Merle groused. “You think I don’t know what I done to myself by cutting it off?”

“It was an accident,” Daryl told him, for the hundredth time. He glanced at the clock. It was 8:30. “Do you have an appointment today? Any place you need to go? Cause I have to be at the theater.”

“Nah. It’s Saturday, got nothin’.” Merle sounded depressed. “Figured you and me would go out to the bar tonight though.”

Daryl opened the cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal. “Can’t.”

“And why not? I been inside for six years, bro. We got a lot of catchin’ up to do.”

“The show goes up next weekend, Merle.” Daryl had told him this already, but Merle didn’t care to remember.

“Ain’t you done buildin’ or whatever you claim you’re doin’ there yet?”

“There’s more than just building the walls on the set,” Daryl explained patiently. “We have to dress the set, get all the props together.”

“Listen to you: ‘dress the set’,” Merle snickered. “They sure have made you their bitch.”

“Shut up, Merle,” Daryl sighed. “I do it ‘cause I want to. I enjoy it. They’re good people.”

“They’re people who impose on your good nature, baby bro.”

Daryl just spooned his cereal, saying nothing. 

“I been stuck in the can for six years, man,” Merle continued. “Can’t blame me for wantin’ to get out and have some fun.”

“Merle, you’ve had fun almost every night since you’ve been out.”

“Only been a week. That sure doesn’t add up to six years.”

“So go out by yourself. You don’t need me taggin’ along.” Daryl reached for the keys to his truck, passing them to Merle. “You can drive.”

“It’s a damn stick!” Merle complained.

“You can manage fine.” Daryl turned to look at him. “If it was me, you’d be callin’ me a pussy for not being able to drive a stick one handed.”

“Whatever.” Merle looked glum. “Just kept thinkin’ ‘bout us Dixon boys tearing up the county like we used to.”

“I think that ship has sailed, Merle.” Daryl tried to chuckle, attempting to make light of Merle’s suggestion. “You don’t want to go back to prison, do you? I got my business now and I sure don’t have the time to have a hangover every morning.”

“You just don’ know how to hold your liquor.”

“You already forget what happened the first night we went out?” 

“That wasn’t my fault and you know it,” Merle said defensively.

Daryl had known that Merle would see it that way. Nothing was ever his fault, especially things that caused injury to Daryl. 

Merle pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slid one into his mouth, leaning over the burner on the stove to light it. “You just got all domesticated without me,” he said, as if that was a bad thing.

“Had to make a living,” Daryl replied. He finished his cereal and ran some hot water in the sink, quickly washing his bowl and their coffee mugs. “What do you plan on doin’, Merle? You know the parole board says you gotta find work.”

“I’m still recuperatin’.” Merle took a long drag of his smoke. “Sides, who’s gonna hire a ex-con?”

“You could work for me.” 

Merle scoffed. “Yeah, right. One-handed construction man. That’s me.”

“There’s lots you could do. I have so much business I do need the help.”

Merle grunted again. “You know I ain’t the kind to be a workin’ man.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Hoo, yeah! Like the first time my little brother come’d home from a hot date!” Merle nudged Daryl’s shoulder. “Still haven’t told me all about her.”

“And I ain’t about to,” Daryl said. 

“That’s cause you know I’d take her for myself,” Merle chortled. 

Daryl bit back a retort. It was okay with him if Merle imagined Daryl had been with some woman. 

He grabbed his keys and headed for the door. 

“Try to stay out of trouble today,” he told Merle as he left. 

“Me? You don’t know me very well, Darlina!”

The sound of his motorcycle revving covered the sound of Merle’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is the 4th of July and I'm getting together with friends to celebrate and we'll be watching the dvd of "Fifth of July" like old times! I am so in the mood from working on this story!


	18. I'll Bet That's True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the next day at the theater. The set is nearly finished; time to find props. Rick and Daryl get to see each other again after their evening together. And something unexpected happens!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it certainly took me much longer to update this time than I ever thought it would. I haven't lost interest, just my mojo for abit. I'm back in the saddle now and I appreiate all of you readers hanging in there for me. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Thanks to the amazing and lovely MermaidSheenaz and Maroon Camero as always for their beta work and cheer-leading. I live for your comments and couldn't do this without you guys.

_I'll Bet That's True_

Everybody showed up early at the theater that morning. By the time Rick got there at ten, Daryl was already putting the finishing touches on the set while Maggie helped him. Michonne then suggested they all head downstairs to the prop department to find things for the set. As everyone headed for the door at the left side of auditorium, Rick hung back waiting for Daryl to pack up his toolbox.

“Hi,” he said when Daryl finally got up from his kneeling position by the flats and noticed him standing there. “Sleep all right?”

Daryl gave one of his rare smiles and Rick noticed that a faint blush colored his cheeks. He couldn’t help grinning in response.

Daryl jumped down off the stage to stand directly in front of Rick, close as he could get without touching. Rick wasn’t surprised Daryl didn’t reach for him; anyone could walk back into their area and Daryl wouldn’t want someone to see them being affectionate with each other. 

“I slept great,” Rick said, meeting Daryl’s eyes. He lifted his hand and brushed a bit of sawdust out of Daryl’s bangs, contenting himself with just that slight touch rather than pulling Daryl into his arms as he wanted to do.

“I thought you might,” Daryl responded, his eyes glinting as his gaze lingered on Rick. Though he didn’t touch Rick, the warmth in his eyes reached out to him. 

“Next time, you can spend the night,” Rick whispered, watching Daryl’s eyes to gauge his response to that suggestion.

Daryl glanced away. “I don’t know about that, Rick.” His voice was low, self-conscious.

“Hey, it’s all right. No pressure,” Rick told him quickly. “We’ll figure it out.”

Daryl compressed his lips, giving a quick nod, though his eyes didn’t seem as positive as they’d been a moment ago.

“Did Merle give you a hard time when you got home last night?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he said, turning to head toward the door. 

Rick realized he didn’t want to talk about it and figured he wouldn’t press the other man. If Daryl wanted to tell him, he would, but in his own time. Rick dropped his stuff on a seat in the front row and followed Daryl out the side door of the auditorium.

The prop room was a cluttered space, filled with hundreds of items that had been used in previous shows at the theater. Arranged on overflowing shelves, stacked in boxes and piled on furniture, there was anything and everything that could be used to dress a set. If it couldn’t be found there, an item would have to be purchased or borrowed for the show, but it looked like most of the things that were called for in the script could be obtained in the big room. Rick felt like they were embarking on a scavenger hunt as the cast members began sorting through the piles and stacks.

“Michonne,” Maggie called, “how does this lamp look?” She was holding up an old-fashioned floor lamp, made of brass with a pale cream shade. 

“That’s good, Maggie,” Michonne approved. “The Talley place has mostly old furnishings and decorations. Andrea – look through those vases and see what you can find, okay?” 

Andrea nodded and waded over to a bookcase on the far right wall, picking up first one vase and then another as she contemplated which ones might work for their set. Philip followed her but he seemed to prefer watching to actually trying to help find props.

Rick began looking around, trying to see if any of the props he was going to need were lying around. He noticed a box overflowing with electronics and began shifting the items around as he looked through them.

“Here’s my tape recorder!” he called out, holding it up for the others to see. It was a seventies vintage style small cassette recorder, such as Ken would have used for Johnny Young to record his story. It featured in both acts of the show, but more in the second act, when Ken had it out on the back porch telling everyone about the story the boy with the speech problem had recorded for him. 

“Great, Rick,” Michonne smiled. “That reminds me. We need someone to make that recording.” She glanced around at the group speculatively. “Maggie? How about you?”

“Me?” Maggie asked, looking surprised as Glenn grinned at her proudly. “I don’t act.”

“Well, you can pretend to have a gravelly voice, can’t you?” Michonne asked her.

“I guess so.” Maggie didn’t seem entirely convinced. 

“We’ll talk about it,” Michonne responded. “You’ll go through it twice. Once where it’s impossible to understand and one other time where the audience can just make it out.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” Maggie finally agreed. “I’d be glad to help.”

“Hey, look!” Shane called out. “I found some gardening tools over here!” He was holding up a large set of pruning shears. “Will these work for when he goes after John for knocking Ken down?” 

Michonne moved toward him, taking the tool and hefting it. “Yes! These will be perfect,” she agreed. “What else is in that box, Shane?”

He rummaged around in it, coming up with a slightly battered wash basin and a few other used tools. 

“I’ve got some good vases,” Andrea spoke up. She had piled several into Philip’s arms and he stood there long-sufferingly. 

“Wine bottles!” Beth yelled out from another corner of the prop room. “How many of those do we need?”

“Bring ‘em all!” Carol and Andrea chorused as everyone else began laughing. It was true that there was a lot of drinking being done by the characters on stage.

“Will this work for a pill box?” Rick asked, holding up a small metal tin he’d found. It was rather ornate and looked like the size that would fit in a purse.

“I love it!” Michonne told him. Rick put the item in a basket he’d found to carry his items.

“Hey, Michonne, look at this!” Daryl said suddenly. He had been leaning over looking into a wooden trunk and now stood, holding a shiny sword aloft.

“Wow!” Glenn said, whistling appreciatively. “Do we need that?”

“ _What_ is that?” Beth wondered as Daryl waved the curved sword around. Rick noted that it was slender, with a handle that was wrapped in white leather. The light from the ceiling glinted off the surface.

Michonne took two strides and reached for Daryl’s prize, taking it almost reverently. “It’s a katana,” she announced. “Wow. I used to have one of those.” She waved it more expertly than Daryl had, acting as if she was slicing off enemies’ heads, her stance strong and bold, braids flying as she moved. Everyone applauded her stylish handling of the weapon.

Finally she stopped play-acting with it and just held it fondly. “I don’t think we need it for this show,” she said sadly. 

“You should keep it,” Beth suggested. 

“No, it’s too dangerous for Andre to be around,” Michonne said with a shrug. “Maybe someday I’ll get another one.” She put it back in the trunk carefully.

Rick realized that there might be a story behind her words but it wasn’t the time to ask her about it.

Everyone got back to the task at hand after a moment. Rick moved toward Daryl, just feeling like he wanted to be closer to him. The other man straightened from where he’d been picking through a pile of picture frames and old wall ornaments, dropping a couple into Rick’s basket. Daryl brushed the dust from his hands and met Rick’s eyes. 

“Michonne was amazing with that katana,” Rick observed quietly. 

Daryl nodded his agreement. “She used to do martial arts,” he informed Rick. “Invited me to a tournament one time.”

Rick was impressed. He could easily imagine Michonne doing that but he was also intrigued to learn that Daryl had attended her tournament. He enjoyed learning new things about him, even something as small as that.

“I don’t know much about swords or martial arts,” he said. “I know more about guns.”

“Guns are okay,” Daryl nodded. “But I like huntin’ with something silent, like my crossbow.”

Rick noticed how Daryl’s eyes twinkled as he mentioned the weapon he preferred. “You’ll have to show me sometime,” he said softly, not wanting the others to overhear. He could just imagine the rugged guy carrying his crossbow, using it to hunt in the woods – Rick couldn’t think of a sexier weapon that a man could use. His eyes slid over Daryl’s shoulders and arms, then back up to meet his eyes.

Daryl glanced away, unable to meet Rick’s teasing expression. Rick could just make out the blue of his eyes beneath his shaggy bangs, partly embarrassed, partly intrigued by Rick’s frank appraisal.

“Sorry,” Rick whispered.

Daryl shook the hair out of his eyes and looked directly at him. “S’okay.” He gave a brief nod. “After the show. We’ll plan on it.” Then he bent over the pile of items he’d been going through again and Rick was left trying to wipe the smile off his face at Daryl’s response. If he wasn’t mistaken, Daryl was getting used to Rick’s closeness and gentle teasing. It made Rick feel warm all over.

Shane was holding up a battered-looking old watering can. “Michonne? How’s this?” he asked. His character used a watering can several times in the course of the first act, once to even pour water for Ken to take his pain pills with.

“Looks good,” Michonne nodded.

“I’ve gotta drink out of that?” Rick objected.

“We’ll clean it up good for you, Rick,” Beth promised. 

Rick gave a mock shudder, trying not to think about the dust and germs in the old galvanized can. But he supposed it wouldn’t be that bad to sip some water that had been in it if they washed it out first. The show must go on.

“Few germs won’t kill ya,” Daryl muttered at his side. 

Rick sighed. “Guess not.” In truth, his doctor had told him to be careful about washing his hands and making sure to avoid any food born illnesses since the shooting but he didn’t want to seem like a wuss so he kept that to himself. It wasn’t like the can had previously been used for toxic waste or had mad cow disease in it. 

Daryl bumped Rick’s shoulder with his own and slanted his eyes toward him, teasing in his own way. Rick couldn’t help snickering at his own fastidiousness. 

“Oh my God, look at this!” Carol exclaimed. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned toward her. She was holding a big yellow macramé basket up in the air. “Just what I need for Aunt Sally’s macramé hobby!” Carol called gleefully. 

Beth applauded and the rest chuckled while Michonne congratulated Carol on the find. 

“Hey, everybody!” 

The all turned at the sound of Denise’s voice. She was standing at the doors to the prop room, smiling broadly. She was carrying a large blue and white striped tote bag.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said first. “But I figured you wouldn’t mind when I show you what I brought.” With that, she reached into her tote and pulled out a large, fancy candy box. “How would this work as the box with Uncle Matt’s ashes?”

Carol gasped and began climbing over piles of stuff to get to where Denise was standing. She reached for the ornate box that looked as though someone had given it for Valentine’s day decades ago. While not in the shape of a heart, it was gold and had jewels and lace decorating the top. Denise opened the hinged lid to reveal a velvet lined interior.

Beth squealed. Andrea grinned and nodded. Even Glenn seemed impressed.

“I think it’s perfect!” Carol exclaimed. Reverently, she took it from Denise, holding it carefully as she looked it over. “Where on earth did you find it?”

“Tara and I were antiquing last night and we found it way in the back of this little store, all dusty. We bought it and took it home and cleaned it up and reglued some of the jewels and lace! Tara aired it out on the back porch – it smelled awful. But now I think any dead husband would be glad to have his ashes kept in it!”

Michonne walked over and peered at the box that Carol held out for her to see. For a moment, everyone was quiet as though holding their breath to see if their director approved.

“I love it,” Michonne said finally. “I’ve seen simple heart boxes and old Whitman’s Sampler boxes. But this – I think it’s perfectly in character for Aunt Sally to use for Uncle Matt!” She turned to the waiting cast. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have our candy box!”

Everybody broke into applause and laughter and Denise looked proud at their approval. Rick had noticed that she was somewhat shy when she wasn’t acting the part of his tough sister, June, and it seemed to make her really happy that she’d been able to contribute to the show by finding the box.

 

The group spent another half hour in the property room, coming up with most of the stuff they’d need for the show. They had found the sharpening tool that Jed could use to work on his gardening shears, the fan that Shirley would carry, the various knick knacks for the living room, including books and photo albums and old magazines for the shelves and tables. Andrea had found a nice set of dishes and a tray that would be great for the breakfast that June was going to make in the second act too. Wiping dust from their hands and lugging their haul, the cast headed back toward the auditorium. 

Rick was on his way out of the prop room himself when he felt a hand on his arm. Turning, he realized that he and Daryl were the last to leave and as it happened, they were alone. 

A frisson of warmth rippled through him at how close Daryl was standing. He’d even shifted his laundry basket of props to his hip so he could get nearer. It suddenly seemed such a long time since last night. Rick stepped further into Daryl’s space, leaning over to let their lips connect. Daryl’s mouth was moist, warm, soft against his own. The kiss was quick and almost chaste but it still left Rick feeling dizzy with anticipation. When they stepped apart, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. God, he liked Daryl so much.

Daryl, faced with Rick’s obvious affection and happiness, simply ducked his head and gave a grunt, clearing wanting them to hurry up and get back to the theater before the others noticed they weren’t keeping up. He strode past Rick, clutching the full basket of props but he turned his head and winked at Rick before crossing the threshold. Rick made sure his own basket was secure as he hurried after him.

It took awhile to get the props organized. Daryl had set up a large table off stage right and everyone unloaded the things there while he made note of each item on his legal pad. As soon as the glassware was catalogued, Maggie and Beth picked it all up and carried it off to be washed. Rick, not having much to do before they started rehearsing, moved to sit in the front row where he could watch Daryl work, enjoying a moment to admire the man’s strong arms and broad shoulders once again. It was different now though, knowing those arms had been around him. 

Eventually, once the props had been set up around the set, Michonne called rehearsal. Rick climbed the steps up to the stage and situated himself behind the desk, pleased to see it was dressed with pens and papers and that a wine bottle and glass had been placed next to the tape recorder and legal pad. His crutches were propped behind the desk, mostly out of sight of the audience so they would be somewhat of a surprise when he first pulled them out to use them. A number of things were still needed, but the stage was starting to look like a complete set, now that Daryl had finished the flats and the stairs leading up to the “second floor” of the house. Rattan furniture, borrowed from a local restaurant had been brought in and an oval rug had been placed on the floor. A beige old-style dial phone had been set up on the telephone table, with a message pad, some pens and a box of tissues, with a leather carrying bag next to it that was supposed to be John’s, along with some magazines and a newspaper peeking out of the bag; Michonne had mentioned her plan to print covers for them so they would represent copies of Billboard magazine and the Wall Street Journal. They still needed an assortment of cigarette boxes and some potted plants but he felt more at home and in character already.

“Go ahead, Rick,” Michonne said, having settled into her seat midway back in the center section, Daryl at her side with his legal pad ready to take notes. 

Checking to see if Shane was in his spot just “outside,” Rick leaned over the desk, rubbing his temples as if his head were aching. He was supposed to be hung over from the previous night of drinking and taking drugs with John and Gwen. 

Off stage left, Maggie began to moan and groan as she attempted to speak as if she was the boy on the tape recording. Rick flicked a glance toward her and forced himself not to grin at her interpretation of the boy’s voice. Once she got it down on tape, he realized it would really work. It was good to finally have something to actually react to as he made his notes and tried to understand. 

Shane stomped his feet on the porch and Rick turned toward the sound.

“Light’s going. I’m about half blind,” Shane said, launching into the now familiar first lines of the show.

Rick pressed the button on his tape recorder and Maggie cut her guttural speech off mid-word. “What say?” he called toward “Jed.”

“Don’t stop. I have to go back down. I said the light’s going, can’t see a thing down there.” 

Rick, as Ken, looked more closely at his partner, affecting consternation. “Where have you been hiding all afternoon?”

“Aww, the stupid herb garden is going rank. The lavender’s all over the thyme, the angelica’s flopping all over the germander.” Shane now had that line down perfectly, despite the odd sounding garden terms. “Where are your two friends?” he asked, entering the house.

Rick rubbed his brow. “John is showing Gwen his hometown, which should take about ten minutes.”

“They came down to see me this afternoon. John was bragging about their garden in Carmel. It really pissed me off. I was throwin’ that lavender over my back, the whole garden smells like an English bathhouse,” Shane said as he approached Rick. “Check it out early. It’ll be grown over by noon.”

He leaned down and kissed Rick right on the lips, by this time comfortable with the stage kiss. Rick reached up and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, letting go easily as Shane pulled back.

“Holy god --” Rick began, about to say how terrific Jed smelled.

“What the everlovin’ fuck is this supposed to be?” a loud, gruff voice demanded, cutting Rick off mid-sentence. 

Everyone froze. Rick and Shane stared out toward the seats. Rick tried to shade his eyes so he could see better, but all he really could make out was the shape of a large male. Michonne and Daryl turned and craned their necks. From the sidelines and off stage, Carol, Glenn, Denise and Beth looked out. On the left side of the front row, Andrea and Philip both stood up.

“Excuse me,” Michonne began.

“Shut up, Chocolate Drop,” the man said, making the term drip with condensation. “Who’s in charge here?” He began striding down the aisle.

“I am,” Michonne said, getting to her feet. “This is a closed rehearsal, sir, and…”

“I _asked_ what the fuck is goin’ on?” The man waved his hands to indicate the stage. Suddenly, Rick realized that the man’s right arm was heavily bandaged. 

Just as it dawned on Rick who this was, Daryl climbed over the seats to head toward him. Even from the stage, Rick could tell Daryl was mortified by the intrusion and Merle’s attitude.

Noticing Daryl’s approach, Merle turned toward him. “Ho, there you are, baby brother! Why din’t you tell me y’all was puttin’ on some faggot play here?”

“Merle,” Daryl began, arms out as if to physically prevent his brother from saying more. “It’s not like that…”

“Those two fellas was kissin’, wasn’t they?” Merle demanded. 

“Sir -- ” Michonne tried again, leaving her row and approaching Merle and Daryl in the aisle. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Merle took a step forward, looking at her disdainfully. “No soul sista’s gonna tell me what to do.”

Rick was off the stage before he could even think. He was aware that Shane was behind him and peripherally that Philip was also heading toward the center aisle.

Daryl had taken hold of Merle’s left arm and was speaking in a low voice, obviously trying to persuade him to leave or at least shut up. But the hulking figure wasn’t moving. He noticed Rick’s approach and looked him up and down, a mean glint entering his gaze.

“There he is, the fag that was doin’ the smoochin’,” Merle drawled. Cocking his head in Shane’s direction, he nodded. “And you’s the boyfriend, huh? Tell me, you guys plannin’ on fuckin’ right _on_ the stage or just pretendin’?” Amazingly, Merle swayed his hips in a parody of sexual aggression. 

“That’s enough!” Rick said, his voice taking on the commanding tone he’d used with countless drunks and assorted assholes on the job.

“You know what I did to pretty boys like you in the joint?” Merle demanded, not backing down despite Rick’s tone.

Daryl moved then, inserting himself between his brother and Rick. 

“Merle, for fuck’s sake, shut the hell up and get outta here,” he ground out, more demanding than pleading. 

Merle shifted his body, pushing his brother aside and leering at Rick, nodding as he took in Shane standing behind him. 

“Either we have a calm discussion about this,” Rick said, his voice patient but firm, “or you can leave. As the director told you, this is a closed rehearsal. I know you’re Daryl’s brother but we can’t have this kind of disruption.”

“I’ll show ya disruption,” Merle huffed. He glanced at Daryl. “Does the whole town know you’re putting on some pansy ass play about faggots getting’ it on here?”

“This play was on Broadway,” Michonne spoke up. “And it’s not about any such thing.”

Merle looked her up and down. “Yeah, right.” He nodded at Daryl. “Come on, brother. Let’s get outta here.” He grabbed hold of Daryl’s arm and turned to head back up the aisle. 

Rick took a step forward. He didn’t want to get in between Daryl and his brother but he could barely restrain himself. Just the idea of Merle threatening Daryl set off alarms in Rick’s head, but he held back, not wanting his interference to make things worse.

“Merle,” Daryl said, his voice low and even despite the stressful situation. “I’m not leavin’.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “Sure ya are, little brother. Merle don’t need no fag stink on his own family. You played around here long enough.” He gestured at the stage. “Looks real pretty too, what you built for ‘em. But you’s done here now that I know what kinda play it is.”

Daryl was staring at Merle as if he couldn’t believe what the man had said. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he reiterated. He reached up and disengaged Merle’s hand from his arm.

“What did you say to me?” Merle asked, his tone growing more threatening as he glared at Daryl.

“I think you heard him,” Rick said smoothly. “Your brother doesn’t want to go. But you need to.” 

Merle thrust his chin out. “Who’s gonna make me?”

“The sheriff’s office, if you make any more trouble,” Rick told him without blinking an eye. “I happen to know you’re on parole. Do you want to go back to prison, Mr. Dixon?” 

Merle squinted in Rick’s direction and for one long moment, Rick was certain the man recognized him. But though he must look somewhat familiar to Merle, he obviously couldn’t quite place Rick. 

“Merle,” Daryl said quietly, “go home.”

Merle jerked away from Daryl, even though his brother hadn’t even really reached toward him. He took a moment to cast his glaring gaze at the whole group, seemingly memorizing their faces. “Yeah, I’ll go. For now.”

Then he turned and strode back up the aisle and banged through the door of the auditorium. 

There was a moment of stunned silence in the wake of Merle’s exit. Everyone seemed frozen in place, nobody brave enough to say anything quite yet. 

Finally, Beth’s soft voice, quivering in dismay, broke the spell. “Oh my God.”

Rick took two steps and was beside Daryl. He wanted to reach for him but the tension was so thick, he knew it would be a mistake. Daryl was like a statue, barely breathing, face pale. 

“Daryl?” Rick said softly, hoping to ease into communication with him. 

The eyes Daryl turned on him were wide and wounded. “My brother,” he stammered, “my fuckin’ brother…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should go without saying that I don't use terminology like Merle does in this chapter or have opinions anything at all like his. But just in case, I'm saying it.


	19. Sure She Was Making Soap, But Out Of What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick helps Daryl deal with Merle's unwelcome visit to the theater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful and devoted betas MaroonCamaro and MermaidSheenaz for their quick and amazing work on this chapter and for catching my goofy errors. 
> 
> Excellent fic always inspires me and reading the new fic by SuperBlackMarket, "The Place Beyond" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/7736566) really got my creative juices flowing for this chapter -- if you haven't checked this out yet, do so (right after you read my new chapter, lol) and also read all her wonderful Rickyl fics here on AO3.

_Sure She Was Making Soap, But Out Of What?_

It was eight thirty but to Rick it felt like the middle of the night on some long stake out. They had gone back to rehearsal finally, after everyone had calmed down and for some of them, the disturbance Daryl’s brother had caused was like a shot of adrenalin. Philip and Andrea both seemed more in character than ever, and even Denise had more of a spark to her performance. Rick however, had trouble concentrating, worried about Daryl as he was.

After Merle had left, with all of them standing there in a state of shock, Daryl had looked at Rick, a mixture of anguish and anger on his face, then he’d stormed off down the aisle, shoving past the group of actors in his haste to get away. Rick had looked around, noting in particular the gazes of Michonne and Carol on him and he knew he was the one who had to follow the man, though in truth he figured perhaps Daryl might not want his presence at the moment, or anyone’s. But he shrugged and in a moment, headed back down the aisle as well, intent on finding Daryl and trying to fix whatever was going on in his head after Merle’s unwelcome visit.

It hadn’t been hard to locate him. He was in his shop, pacing back and forth, fists balled at his sides and tension radiating off his frame, a bunch of broken two by fours mute testimony to his rage. In a way, Rick was almost glad he was reacting more with fury than anxiety but he was well aware how destructive that emotion could be, especially for a man like Daryl. As Rick pushed the doors open, Daryl froze, his whole body trembling with reaction, as if he’d assumed his brother had come back. His eyes took in Rick’s face but he drew no comfort from his presence, instead growling under his breath and smashing a fist into his open palm. He glared over at Rick, as if he’d rather fight him than let him calm him down.

“Not surprised you’re mad as a wet cat,” Rick had said dryly. 

Daryl hadn’t responded, not that Rick had expected him to, only shaking the hair out of his eyes and resuming his stomping back and forth at the end of the room.

He hadn’t really known where to start, whether to address the way his brother had humiliated him in front of his friends or that he’d disrupted their rehearsal with his homophobic and racial slurs. But Rick had to say something. 

“I’m glad you didn’t let him drag you out of here,” he’d finally said, keeping his voice soft and supportive. It had shocked him to his core that Merle had the audacity to assume he could order Daryl around but it made sense, given what little Daryl had told him about their relationship. 

“I ain’t no fuckin’ kid,” Daryl had muttered, eyeing Rick from under his messy bangs. 

“I know.”

“’Bout fuckin’ time Merle finds that out.” Daryl had bumped into a table and angrily shoved at it, knocking the pieces of wood on it to the floor in what Rick hoped was a satisfying clatter. Ignoring the mess, he’d stepped over the pieces, talking more to himself than to Rick. “Thinkin’ I got nothin’ better to do than run his errands and keep him company…” picking up a box of nails and throwing them aside, “got my own friends, my own business…” grabbing up plans for the set, ripping and crumpling them between his hands, “an’ I ain’t got no fuckin’ _girlfriend_!” Daryl had finished his tirade over by the circular saw, grabbing the control and shoving a piece of wood into it, seeming to need the sound of it grinding away, the wood chips fanning into the air.

Rick had made his way through the debris, worried that his increasing irritation would end up getting Daryl injured. He had to help him get hold of himself.

“Girlfriend?” Rick had said, confused by the comment. He’d come up behind Daryl and reached past him to shut off the saw before he turned the rest of the lumber in the shop to saw dust. 

In the sudden silence, Daryl had looked at him balefully. “He woke up when I came in last night. Assumin’ if I was out late, must be with a woman.” Incredibly, his face turned scarlet at the admission and he ducked his head, as if unable to meet Rick’s gaze.

It had taken a lot, but Rick had managed not to laugh. Sensing that the worst of the storm had passed, he edged a bit closer, still not reaching for Daryl, despite his need to put hands on him in an effort to soothe and support him.

“Yeah?” was all he’d said in response.

Still not looking at him, Daryl had said, “Merle asked me how big her tits are,” sounding as if the question itself was not only humiliating but infuriating.

At that, a small chuckle had slipped out. Rick ran a hand down his chest. “Sorry. Pretty flat here.” 

Daryl had looked up then, eyes stricken. “I can’t tell him, Rick. I won’t. I’ll let him think anything else… He guessed it was Carol since he’d heard me mention her name. I wanted to bust his jaw for that.”

Rick had finally moved in close to him, trying to telegraph his intention to reach out, but Daryl had still flinched hard when Rick’s hands found his shoulders. “I can’t tell him,” he’d repeated, looking lost and contrite.

“I know.” Rick had said, meeting his gaze. “I don’t want you to.”

If just the idea of the play having gay characters sent him into a homophobic tirade, it was abundantly clear that Merle would not be able to handle the idea that his brother had something going on with Rick. 

“I ain’t ashamed.” Daryl had lifted his chin as if daring Rick to assume otherwise.

“I know that too.” Rick had squeezed his shoulders carefully, wanting badly to pull Daryl into his arms. He could feel the tension radiating off him, saw the way his chest was heaving with every breath. “What do you want to do?”

Daryl had drawn a deep breath, shaking his head. “He’ll probably head to a bar. Bars. Drink ‘til he forgets all about this. Maybe. It’ll probably blow over.” He hadn’t sounded convinced but Rick didn’t contradict him.

Then his eyes had met Rick’s, desperate and so blue he felt them reaching for him, all Daryl’s need plain in his face. “I don’wanta go back there tonight,” he’d said. 

“Okay…” Rick had started to invite him to his place.

“Ain’t afraid,” Daryl had interrupted to tell him. “Jus’… wanta let him forget and if he sees me he’ll get on his high horse again.”

Rick had finally been able to draw Daryl into his arms. “I know. It’s okay. I don’t want you to go back home tonight. I want you at my place.” _Where I can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re all right, make sure your idiot brother doesn’t decide to rant about the play or get physical because you wouldn’t leave with him._

As he’d held him, Daryl’s trembling had gradually abated, his breathing had returned to a more normal pace. He’d first just stood in Rick’s embrace, stiff and unyielding, as if he didn’t think he deserved to be hugged after what had happened. But gradually his body lost its rigidity and after a few long moments, his arms had come up and around Rick’s waist on their own. Rick had counted that as a victory.

They had been well into the second act before Daryl returned to the auditorium, still looking unsettled but better than he had before. Rick had finally been able to fully concentrate on his role at last. 

Now they were back at Rick’s and if anything, the tension had ratcheted back up once the door to his apartment had closed behind them. Daryl was pacing again, like a caged panther, and Rick didn’t know what to do for him. 

“You want something to eat?” Rick asked for the second time, hoping that Daryl would hear him and respond.

“Ain’t hungry,” he muttered, not even stopping in his circuit around the living room.

“Well, I am,” Rick said, hoping that if food showed up, Daryl would regain his appetite. He pulled out his phone. “I’m calling for a pizza.”

“Pepperoni,” Daryl said, his voice sullen and belligerent.

“Of course.” Rick hid his smile as the pizza place answered and he ordered two large ones with pepperoni and mushrooms, along with a side order of breadsticks. Hanging up, he headed for his fridge. “You want a beer?” he asked, pulling one out without waiting for a response. He’d stopped for a couple of six packs on the way home, though Daryl had declined when they’d first arrived so Rick had put them both in the refrigerator. He twisted off the cap and went back out to find Daryl staring at the dartboard.

“Here,” he said, handing it to his reluctant guest. “We could play a few rounds if you want.”

Daryl shrugged, looking disinterested, though he did take a dart and, lining up his shot perfectly, sank a bullseye. 

“We could print out a picture of Merle and tack it on the target,” Rick ventured, hoping the joke wasn’t too out of place. He didn’t want his mercurial friend to decide to aim the next dart at him.

Daryl gave a snort, firing off another that landed so close to the first one Rick doubted you could fit a piece of paper between them. “Merle sucks at darts. I got him in the ass one time when he was boasting he could beat me.”

Despite figuring Merle deserved the injury, Rick winced as he thought about a dart entering that body part when thrown by Daryl’s strong arms. “Oww.” He looked over at the other man, wondering what had happened next, but not daring to ask.

“He got me good for it,” Daryl said with a shrug, as if whatever beating Merle had inflicted didn’t matter. “His friends at the bar had a good laugh.” He didn’t elaborate on whether the laugh was at Merle’s expense or Daryl’s own and Rick suspected it had been a bit of both.

“You guys used to get into it a lot?” he asked, knowing he was treading on slippery ground but unable to stop himself. Their relationship was something he really had no reference for. Rick had never had a brother, but he had imagined that if he had a younger one, he would have stuck up for him and that he’d’ve been the kind of older brother a kid could look up to. He was pretty sure that wasn’t what Daryl and Merle had.

“He knocked me around some,” Daryl admitted. “Makin’ a man outta me’s what he always said. Taught me to fight, stand up for myself. But if I crossed him, he didn’t hold back.” Daryl walked to the board and retrieved his darts. “So I just got so I never crossed him. Least not when he’d find out.” He turned and looked at Rick. “Always knew he was the only one who cared about me,” he said as if that explained everything. God knew, Rick didn’t understand how Merle’s attitude equated with “caring” but he hadn’t been there and wouldn’t judge… not more than he could help himself. “And when I was a kid, that seemed like the truth,” Daryl finished, his voice going wistful. 

Then, as if realizing he had said too much, Daryl shook the hair out of his eyes and straightened his shoulders. “Guess it all sounds like redneck trash to you.” 

The words clawed at Rick’s heart. “I’d never call you that.”

Daryl met his gaze. “’S’what I am Rick.” He didn’t blink or look embarrassed, just like he was telling an inescapable truth. “You saw the shack we were livin’ in. You know what my brother’s done. I’ve heard plenty of cops say it, long before I ever met you.”

Rick nodded, holding Daryl’s unflinching gaze. “But you’ve never heard me say it. And you wouldn’t, even if we weren’t friends now.”

After a long moment, Daryl seemed to let it go, subsiding from daring Rick to deny his status in society. He shook his head. “No. You don’t judge, Rick,” he acknowledged. 

“I know most people don’t see you for who you are inside,” Rick told him, wishing he could make up for it somehow. “Even Merle. He has no idea, does he?” He put all his respect and admiration into his gaze.

Daryl shrugged. “I ain’t nothin’. Ain’t nobody.” The words sounded memorized, learned from being drilled into him, deeply believed.

Rick couldn’t hold back. “That ain’t true. Ain’t what I see.” Daryl looked distrusting again, taking a step back. Rick followed. “I see a man who can create beauty with some pieces of wood and a bucket of paint. A man who loves his brother even if that brother doesn’t know how to show love back to him very well. A man who built up his own business and made friends that care about him. Friends who know he’s worth caring about. Friends he’d never let down.”

Daryl had to look away; Rick could tell the words made him nervous with disbelief, yet he needed to hear them. Needed to know that he wasn’t worthless.

“I see a man who has been lonely even longer than I have. I see a man with the courage to reach out and try to make something even when he had no reason to think his feelings would be returned.” Rick extended his hand, touching two fingers under Daryl’s grizzled chin and lifting his face up to meet his eyes. “I see a man with a beautiful soul that I want to get to know better. That I want to be close to.” His voice had dropped to a bare whisper at the chance he was taking, saying such things. But every word was true. He knew Daryl didn’t hold much stock in words alone. So he did the only other thing he could think of.

Rick kissed him. 

Daryl’s hands came up to his shoulders and whether they intended to push him away or pull him closer, Rick couldn’t say. They staggered together as Rick deepened the kiss, Daryl leaning back and thunking against the wall of Rick’s hallway. Rick slid his tongue into Daryl’s mouth and that seemed to turn the tide; Daryl’s hands tightened on his shoulders, clutching, then sliding down Rick’s back, grasping his hips and pulling Rick’s body against his own.

Their groins were on a level with each other. Rick had hardened instantly at the first brush of their lips and as he ground his hips into Daryl, he felt a response that was anything but reluctant. Daryl groaned into his mouth, his whole body beginning to shudder, heat rising between them, insistent and undeniable. 

Rick felt nimble fingers at his belt, undoing it with admirable precision. He tried to do the same but Daryl’s hands were in the way, getting his own pants undone as well, gripping them both together, stroking, setting Rick on fire. He felt his heart begin to pound as the desire rocked through him. He pressed harder against Daryl, wanting to feel the other man from his chest to his groin, feel Daryl’s strong heart beating so his own wouldn’t falter.

The doorbell rang. 

Lost in heat and sensation, Rick didn’t really recognize the sound at first. It rang again, jangling his nerves with its unwelcome insistence. Why would someone be ringing his bell now of all times?

Daryl pulled their lips apart. “Rick,” he rasped. “I think the pizza’s here.” 

Rick staggered back to himself, taking a step away. He felt flushed, confused, breathless. Daryl was grinning, gripping Rick’s shoulders again as if to ground him in reality. 

The doorbell sounded again.

“Coming!” Rick yelled. 

Daryl snickered, pushing him back further from him. Rick heard him mutter something that might have been “Almost.”

“I mean… be right there!” Rick amended, hastily tucking himself back into his pants. He used both hands to smooth his hair back from his forehead, noting how sweaty his curls were. With nothing else to do, he headed resolutely for the door. 

He was still a few steps away when the doorbell was pressed again. Rick had half a mind to slug the delivery guy. “I said I’m on my way!” he snarled as he ripped the door open.

There stood Glenn, wearing his King County Pizza cap, two boxes in his arms. 

“Sorry, dude,” Glenn said, looking as surprised as Rick felt. “I couldn’t tell if it was ringing or not from out here.” He paused, looking at Rick more closely. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Why not?” Rick stood back and gestured Glenn inside, pretending he didn’t look as flustered as he knew he must. “I didn’t know you were working tonight.”

“Yeah. Maggie’s not happy. She wanted to see a movie, but I gotta pay the rent, y’know?” 

Rick nodded, taking the pizzas from Glenn’s arms and setting them down on the coffee table. He reached for his wallet.

“You must be hungry, man.” Glenn said, nodding in the direction of the two big boxes. 

“Yeah.” Rick was non-committal. It did look weird to have ordered that much for just himself.

“Yeah, we are.” Daryl appeared from around the corner, looking completely at ease and not as if he’d been humping against Rick with his pants open just moments ago.

“Oh, hi, Daryl,” Glenn waved, not looking too surprised to find him there. “Now it makes sense.” He gave a little laugh. “The two pizzas, I mean.”

Rick handed him twenty dollars, wanting Glenn to be able to leave as soon as possible. Glenn pulled a wad of singles from his pocket, about to count out change for him.

“Keep it,” Rick instructed, willing to pay even more for Glenn to be gone. 

“Thanks, dude.” As he shoved the twenty into his pocket with the rest of his bills, Glenn’s cell began to chime. Instead of turning to leave, he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen.

“It’s from Maggie,” he informed them, holding the phone up as if they could read it from a distance. He pushed a couple of buttons and Rick was about to tell him to read his text from his girlfriend on his way out, when Glenn’s expression changed.

“Oh my god – you won’t believe this! Guys, guys --” He motioned to Rick and Daryl and held the phone out even as his own eyes stayed glued to the screen.

Rick heaved a sigh but looked at the phone. Visible was a clip of the local evening news, with the announcer, Miranda Morales, speaking to an older woman on the street.

_“I’m here with Mrs. Gladys Fischer who today contacted channel 9 news about a play being produced at the local Vagabond Theater. Mrs. Fischer, just what is your concern about this play?”_

The camera switched to the gray-haired woman who was dressed in a polyester pants suit and holding a white wicker purse with purple flowers on it. 

_“It’s about… homosexuality! Men having sex right up there on the stage! I’m shocked, I tell you. I’ve attended plays at the Vagabond for over thirty years now and believe me, if I had any idea my season tickets included a show about perversion I would not have gotten them this year!”_

Ms. Morales nodded but asked another question. _“But hasn’t the list of plays for the season been publicized already, Mrs. Fischer? I’ve been told that the selection of shows for the season is released months in advance.”_

Mrs. Fischer huffed. _“Well, yes it is. But I thought this thing called ‘Fifth of July’ was a show about composer George M. Cohan!”_

Glenn snickered and Rick rolled his eyes. Daryl shifted uncomfortably at Rick’s side.

 _“And just how did you happen to find out it wasn’t?_ newscaster Morales asked.

_“I was doing my shopping downtown this afternoon and I ran into a very concerned gentleman outside the theater. He informed me as he came outside. He was very upset because he’d seen them rehearsing the… the sex!”_

“Merle,” Daryl muttered, putting a hand over his face. 

_“So you didn’t see this yourself, Mrs. Fischer?”_ Ms. Morales asked.

The lady responded with a look of shock. _“Heavens, no! But I put in a call to your station right away!”_

The camera moved to center just on the reporter who went on: 

_”We were unable to learn the name of the man Mrs. Fischer says told her the play had homosexual characters, but we have obtained a comment from the managing director of the Vagabond Theater, Dr. Hershel Greene, in a previously recorded statement.”_

The three men looked on, stunned, as Hershel appeared on camera. He looked harried, his white hair ruffled as though he’d rushed to be interviewed without taking time to comb it. 

_“’Fifth of July’ is a well-known play by Lanford Wilson. It’s a comedy, set in the summer of 1978 in Lebanon, Missouri over the fourth of July weekend. It opened on Broadway in 1980 and had a revival during the 2002 to 2003 Broadway season. It is in no way pornographic nor does it have any sex scenes of any kind on stage. There are two gay characters and they are accepted by the entire family.”_ Hershel looked flustered and somewhat annoyed that he had to explain the play to the reporter and television audience. _“This play was presented among other choices for this season to the entire theater board of directors and chosen by unanimous vote. My players have been working tirelessly for the past two months to produce this play which concerns the repercussions of the Viet Nam war and the parentage of a teenage girl, who is by the way, being played by my own eighteen year old daughter, Beth. You can be sure that if anything was ‘wrong’ with it, I wouldn’t let her appear in such a production.”_

 _“Thank you, Dr. Greene._ Ms. Morales turned to the camera and addressed the viewers at home, as well as her colleagues in the studio. _“There you have it. The ‘Fifth of July’ will premiere next weekend on Friday night at eight o’clock p.m. It is not a play with sexual content, as we have been informed by the managing director of The Vagabond, but it is for mature audiences due to language.”_

“Fuck.” Daryl shook his head and strode out to the kitchen, opening the fridge to pull out another beer. 

“I’ll be damned,” said Glenn. “That’s pretty wild, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rick agreed. He cleared his throat, eyes on Daryl as he paced the kitchen, looking every bit as tense as he’d been at the theater after Merle’s departure. “Looks like Hershel took care of it though. One old biddy complaining is all it’ll be, I’m sure.”

“And as they say, any publicity is good publicity,” Glenn was still grinning. 

Rick wasn’t so sure but he didn’t want to talk about it any more, not with Daryl fuming in his kitchen and their pizzas growing cold.

“Thanks for the delivery, Glenn,” he said, moving toward him and hoping his momentum would get his message across. 

Glenn seemed to pick up on Rick’s silent suggestion. “Any time, man. Have a good night and enjoy the pizzas. Night, Rick.” He raised his voice slightly. “You too, Daryl. See you at the theater!”

Rick shut the door behind him and quiet seemed to envelope his apartment again, save for the sound of Daryl’s pacing and heavy breathing. Rick had only just gotten him relaxed, now it seemed he was back to square one.

“Can you grab me a Coke?” he asked, trying to keep his voice easy. “And some napkins?”

Without answering, Daryl did as requested, stomping back over to the couch with the items Rick had asked for. He slumped down, staring dully at the open pizza box on the coffee table. 

“Told ya I ain’t hungry,” he said when Rick picked up a slice and offered it to him. 

“Come on, Daryl,” Rick urged. “No reason to not have some. You didn’t have lunch.”

Looking irritated, Daryl sat forward and took it from Rick, none too gently. He crammed half the slice into his mouth at once, then leaned back as he chewed. “Satisfied?” he asked, mouth full.

“Yes,” Rick nodded. “Well, partly. The news didn’t make me completely forget what we were doin’ right before Glenn showed up.”

His attempt at lightness fell flat. Daryl rolled his eyes but wouldn’t look at him. He finished his slice, licking sauce off his fingers and guzzled some of his beer, heaving a sigh as he returned the bottle to the table. 

Rick decided to stay quiet, let Daryl get past this latest on his own.

“Wouldn’t’a been on the news if I’d gone with him,” Daryl said after five minutes of silence. 

“Daryl…”

“It wouldn’t. He’d’ve been so focused on lecturin’ me that he wouldn’t have had time to tell some old lady we were puttin’ on porn.” 

Rick didn’t say anything but he supposed that much was probably true. 

Daryl was chewing on his thumbnail. “He’s gonna try to shut it down.” 

That was going too far. “No,” Rick said quickly. “Why would he do that? Merle doesn’t strike me as being concerned about community morals.”

“Because of me, Rick. He’s jealous of me havin’ friends. Havin’ somethin’ to do that doesn’t include him. And he’s a homophobic, vindictive sonofabitch.” 

Daryl cast him a look that Rick couldn’t interpret, part guilt, part fear… part resignation.

“I gotta go.” He was up off the couch and half way to the door before Rick even registered what he was saying.

As Daryl paused to gather his backpack, Rick got between him and the door. He felt like he was having déjà vu, only this time, it wasn’t because Daryl had kissed him that he felt he needed to leave.

“Rick.” Daryl looked at him, eyes stormy and determined. “I can’t let him fuck up the whole show. You guys have worked too hard --”

“And you haven’t? There is absolutely no more reason for you to go home now and try to placate him than there was this afternoon.”

Daryl just glared at him.

“He tried to tell you what to do,” Rick said, maintaining eye contact, knowing that he had to get through to Daryl or they would lose more than just the relationship they had barely started together. Daryl needed to be independent from Merle, he couldn’t take a step backwards. Not now. “Ordered you to leave with him. And you let him know he couldn’t do that anymore. You’re your own person, Daryl. I was _proud_ of you this afternoon.”

Daryl gave a low grunt, as if disbelieving Rick’s words.

“I don’t know everything, but I can see you let him walk all over you most of your life. You’ve told me you’re not gonna let him do that now and I believe you. If you go home now, he wins.”

“He always wins.” The words were dull, fatalistic.

“Don’t let him,” Rick implored. “It’s more than the show and you know it.” He reached out but Daryl pulled away from him. “It’s me too, Daryl. It’s Carol and Michonne and the show and me. If we aren’t important to you, go ahead. But if we are, stay here with me and let him stew. He’s an ex-con on parole. He can’t shut down a community theater play.”

Daryl’s eyes were on the floor. “You are important to me. Carol, Michonne, everybody.” He raised his eyes to Rick’s. “But mostly you. I ain’t givin’ you up, Rick.”

The words were barely out when Daryl was on him, kissing Rick deeply, with more force than ever before. Hands in Rick’s hair, body pressing him into the door, hips undulating against Rick’s groin, backpack dropped and forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vagabond Theater is the name of one of the theaters in my home town where Fifth of July was staged. My son's production was at his community college so I couldn't use that name for the theater in the fic. Mrs. Fischer, the lady on the news who was upset about the theme of the play, was one of the walkers in the barn at the Greene farm and of course, Ms Morales the reporter was from the Atlanta camp.


	20. You Live With A Bat, You Fly Like A Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been awhile. We are picking up right where we left off, with Daryl and Rick kissing at the door to Rick's apartment. Glenn had delivered the pizzas and they all saw the news about Merle having told a woman about the play being "gay" and she had gone to the news media about it. Daryl got upset, feeling that if he had left the theater with Merle, that wouldn't have happened, and tried to go home. Rick stopped him, letting him know that he could be his own person and that Rick cared about him. Then they started kissing again...

"You Live With A Bat, You Fly Like A Bat"

 

Rick let Daryl overwhelm him, his body and mind thrilling under Daryl’s sudden onslaught. He was taking charge, showing what he wanted, kissing and caressing as if he had finally let go of all restraint. As if admitting to Rick that he had no intentions of letting him go had opened floodgates of emotion and desire, Daryl was all over Rick, tongue down his throat, hands in his pants, strength Rick had imagined finally unleashed.

They banged back against the apartment’s door, groaning and panting together, in seconds getting back to where they’d been when Glenn rang the bell. Rick felt the doorknob pressing against his kidney; he tried to shift position but that only served to make him thrust his groin into Daryl’s.

The other man groaned in reaction, sliding his hands down to Rick’s ass, turning them so that Daryl’s back was to the door, never breaking their kiss. He humped up against Rick, his body hot and desperate for contact, hands tight on his ass, pulling Rick between his spread legs. Through the layers of their pants, Rick could feel Daryl’s erection, bumping and sliding against his own. He wanted -- _needed_ \-- to come, but he wanted them bare, wanted to see… 

“Daryl,” he gasped, pulling his lips away, “please…” Rick tried snaking his hand between their bodies to undo his belt, wishing he was adept at it as Daryl.

“Rick…” His name was groaned out in a reckless gasp that made Rick shudder with desire. Nobody had ever said his name like that, with so much heat and so much need. Daryl’s hands went for Rick’s belt, getting his pants open in seconds and following up by yanking his own jeans apart as well. Rick tried to help, succeeding in shoving his pants down past his hips and moaning when he felt Daryl’s hands cup his bare ass at last.

He could feel their cocks thrusting against each other, heated and hard, wet with anticipation. Again he was struck with the realization that having sex with another man was so good, so right. He’d enjoyed being with his wife but this… This transcended anything Rick had experienced before. It was white hot, fierce, basic, the two of them rocking into each other, cocks sliding up and down, burning with arousal. Rick felt Daryl’s hands aligning their bodies, adjusting Rick against him, getting Rick right where Daryl wanted him to be. Daryl’s legs were wide, knees bent so he could roll his groin up into Rick’s as he pulled Rick’s down into him.

Something slick and hot slid against Rick’s abdomen, probably Daryl’s pre-come, and the notion set Rick on fire. His hips began moving on their own, he let his full weight push Daryl back against the door and gasped as Daryl reacted by bucking into him even harder than before. They were completely in tune with each other, mouths latched together, hips rocking in tempo, breathing escalating until, in only moments, they were coming.

For Rick, it seemed to go on and on, his hips thrusting with every burst of semen from his body, the sensations jolting through him making him spasm over and over again. He felt stronger than ever before, yet his knees were going weak and he realized that only Daryl’s strength was holding him steady. His head swam, he couldn’t get his eyes to work, he felt dizzy, he couldn’t catch his breath. It was getting dark….

“Rick, you with me?” 

Daryl’s voice seemed to be coming to him from a deep well. Rick tried to speak but his mouth was too dry. He nodded, trying to let Daryl know he could hear him. He didn’t think he’d actually passed out, but he had certainly been overwhelmed by his orgasm. He’d lost a few seconds there somewhere and it was kind of embarrassing. 

“Rick?”

Trying to say something, Rick managed a cough.

“Rick!” Daryl’s voice was urgent now and Rick flashed on the way it had sounded when he’d collapsed on the stage with chest pains.

He forced his eyes open. Daryl was bending over him as he lay stretched out on the floor. He looked stricken. “I… I’m okay,” Rick managed finally. 

“Thought I gave ya a fuckin’ heart attack,” he said, eyes more worried than Rick expected. 

He reached up and pulled Daryl down into a kiss. “I’m fine,” he huffed out afterwards. “Just got kinda dizzy there for a minute.”

Daryl looked him over in concern. “Sex ain’t supposed to make you dizzy.” He ran a hand down Rick’s chest, letting it rest over his heart. “Sure you’re not in any pain?”

Rick smiled up at him, covering Daryl’s hand with his own. “That wasn’t like any pain I’ve ever felt before.”

“Feels like your heart is beatin’ pretty fast to me,” Daryl said gruffly. “We were standin’ up and I had to catch you so you didn’t hit the floor too hard.”

“I didn’t feel myself fall,” Rick admitted. “You must have swept me off my feet.” 

Daryl looked away when Rick said that. “I ain’t _that_ good.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Rick said, reaching to turn Daryl’s face back toward him. “I’m good, really. Just… haven’t done that in a long time – except for the other night with you on the couch.”

“Been a long time for me too,” Daryl reminded him. He looked embarrassed as he turned away to use his shop rag before buckling his pants. He passed the rag to Rick without meeting his eyes.

Rick swiped at his own groin and stomach while watching Daryl covertly. He hoped his moment of dizziness hadn’t made the other man uncomfortable. 

“Next time, let’s make sure we’re in a bed,” Rick suggested. 

“Next time?” Daryl sounded incredulous. 

“You are staying the night,” Rick pointed out reasonably. “I’m not sure what my refractory time is, but I’m just assuming… You do want to do it again, right?”

Daryl met his eyes then, looking both eager and shy. “Yeah, Rick. I want to. Long as you feel okay.”

“I feel better than I have in months,” Rick told him sincerely. “It was just… really powerful there for a minute.” He felt his face flush. He didn’t want Daryl thinking he was some kind of invalid. Looking down, he pulled his jeans up and zipped them, then fastened his belt. “I’m okay. Honest.”

Daryl got to his feet and reached a hand down to help Rick up. “Okay,” he said sternly, “just don’t bullshit me about this.”

“I’m not. I appreciate your concern,” Rick answered. He shoved the damp hair off his forehead and glanced around, noting the pizzas on the coffee table. “Are you hungry? Cause I’m starving.”

Daryl actually chuckled. “Yeah, I’m hungry. Let’s finish up that pizza.” He took his rag from Rick’s hands and tossed it toward his backpack. As the two of them walked the short distance to the table, Daryl kept his hand at the small of Rick’s back, as if still making sure he was okay.

They took their seats on the couch, both grabbing for slices. Rick leaned back against Daryl’s chest, feeling warm and complete. He felt kind of like he was floating, as if the residual dizziness was still hovering around him. Finishing his piece of pizza, he reached for his coke but didn’t feel like sitting forward to get it. Daryl chuckled under his breath and got it for him. 

“You’re not about to fall asleep on me, are ya?” he wanted to know. 

“Sorry.” Rick sat up, blinking, trying to make himself feel more wakeful. He slugged down most of the coke left in the can, hoping the caffeine would kick in.

Daryl took it out of his hand and replaced it on the coffee table. “Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” He pulled Rick back against him, sliding his left arm around Rick’s shoulder. “Shut your eyes if you need to. Imma eat another slice.”

“Maybe just for a second or two,” Rick murmured, already letting the lassitude pull him down. He was so comfortable against Daryl’s broad chest, with Daryl’s hand rubbing his shoulder soothingly. He let his eyes drift closed.

Some time later, Rick floated to wakefulness. He was still leaning back against Daryl, blissfully comfortable in the other man’s embrace. He could feel Daryl’s hand stroking his head, fingers combing through his hair. He turned his head, nuzzling into Daryl’s chest, inhaling his scent of cigarettes and sawdust. So good, he thought, to be this close to him.

“Mmnn,” he muttered, rubbing his face against Daryl’s shirt.

“You’re awake.” A soft whisper, gentle as the hand in his hair. “You feel okay?”

“Feel wonderful.” Rick pressed a kiss to the front of Daryl’s shirt. “Love you playin’ with my hair like that.” He said it softly, not wanting to embarrass Daryl by the admission.

“Can’t help it,” Daryl said, fingers stilling on Rick’s scalp, then stroking through his hair again. “Love these curls ya got.”

“I need a haircut.” It was Rick’s turn to be embarrassed. Michonne had asked the men in the show to let their hair grow out, as it was set in the 70s when they wore their hair longer than at present. 

“Nah,” Daryl disagreed. “You keep it like this even after the show.” He tugged on a curl playfully. 

“Had to keep it short when I was on the force. Guess I don’t need to worry about that now.”

“Good. You don’t look so much like a boy scout this way,” Daryl chuckled. He bent and kissed Rick on the top of the head. 

“I never looked like a boy scout!” Rick feigned indignation.

“Sure you did. All clean shaven with that perfectly pressed uniform and that stupid fuckin’ hat!” Daryl took the sting out of the words by hugging Rick close as he said them.

“I’ll have you know that hat was regulation,” Rick huffed.

“But most of your buddies wore baseball caps, knowin’ the Stetson made ‘em look ridiculous,” Daryl laughed. “Where is that thing now, anyway?”

“My son has it,” Rick told him, remembering how he’d given it to Carl before he and his mother had left town to move to Virginia, how proud young Carl had looked with it on his head. _“I look just like you now, dad,”_ he’d said.

Daryl hesitated before speaking again. Rick looked up and found that Daryl’s eyes had gone soft. He squeezed Rick tightly. “I’ll bet he looks great in it.”

Rick chuckled. “Never thought I’d hear Daryl Dixon spoutin’ bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” Daryl denied. “He’s your kid. You gonna tell me you don’t think he looks good in the hat?”

“He looked like he was playing cowboys and Indians,” Rick told him, chuckling. He sobered quickly though. “Way too big for him. I had to pad the brim. He always wanted to be like me. Didn’t… want to leave Georgia with his mom. When I gave him the hat, he felt like I was still proud of him, still his dad even though we wouldn’t be seein’ each other much.”

“You miss him, don’tcha?”

“Yeah,” Rick sighed. Sometimes being without his son was worse than not being a cop anymore. 

“When’s the next time he’ll be visiting?” Daryl asked.

Rick closed his eyes as he thought about it. “In June. Seems like forever,” he said. “Not ‘til school is out for him.”

“Shitty that your wife had to move him so far away.”

Rick shrugged. “She got a good job offer.” That was true, but it wasn’t the only reason. “And she wanted to be as far away from me as possible.” Something must have shown in his face, because Daryl spoke softly.

“She must be crazy.” He kissed the top of Rick’s head, his arms tightening again. “Don’t know what you coulda done to make her feel that way.”

“I got shot. Couldn’t work. Weakness… makes her uncomfortable. Always has. She couldn’t deal when her father had a stroke and never visited him again before he died.” He would have said more, but the words died on his lips. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about with Daryl, especially considering how the orgasm had affected him. 

“You ain’t weak,” Daryl said, sounding certain. 

“Right, I just keel over when I come.” Rick started to sit up, but Daryl wouldn’t let him go. 

“You said we’d do it in a bed next time,” Daryl reminded him. “I’ll make sure it goes just fine, Rick. And strength isn’t just how much weight a guy can lift.”

Rick turned in Daryl’s arms so they were face to face. “Thanks,” was all Rick was able to say. He brought his lips up to meet Daryl’s and the kiss was sweet and soft, deepening gradually, warm with potential. With his simple words, Daryl had managed to reassure Rick, to make him feel he wasn’t worthless anymore. And the promise to take care of him in bed was both comforting and arousing. 

After a few moments, Rick pulled away and sat up, glancing toward the pizza boxes. The first box was empty but the second hadn’t been opened. He leaned forward and pushed the empty box aside – Daryl must have regained his appetite after all – and helped himself to a slice. Even room temperature, it tasted great. He picked up his can of Coke, and realized when he shook it gently that it was empty.

Daryl got to his feet. “Imma grab another beer. You want a Coke?”

“Thanks,” Rick mumbled around the pizza in his mouth. There was something so easy about hanging out with Daryl, knowing they had the rest of the night together, the fact that, despite the newness of their relationship, not really having to worry about making the perfect impression. Rick figured the ice was broken on that score already. Daryl was an honest guy; he wouldn’t pretend to like Rick if he didn’t, wouldn’t lie about Rick not seeming weak to him. It did wonderful things for Rick’s self esteem.

He had to wonder how Daryl had come to be so strong and caring, when it was clear he hadn’t had a lot of role models for that aspect of his personality. How many times had he extended himself, cared about a person, tried to do right by them, but was rebuffed or punished for that sentiment? Rick doubted he would ever know, but he wanted to help Daryl the way Daryl was helping him. Wanted to shower him with love and affection, not to overwhelm or embarrass him, but to make up at least in part for the rejections he had suffered.

As Daryl returned to the living room, Rick glanced at his watch. It was after ten already; he must have dozed longer than he’d realized. 

“You got somewhere to be?” Daryl asked, noting that Rick had been checking the time.

“’Course not. Just thinking I’m not being much of a host if I took a nap for an hour.”

Daryl ducked his head, handing Rick his Coke. “Wasn’t bored.” He flopped back down on the couch, holding his bottle of Mazurt to his lips. 

Rick watched the way they curved around the mouth of the bottle, suddenly picturing them encircling his dick that way. He shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to dispel the image, earning a look from Daryl even as Rick realized there was no reason to try to stop the direction his thoughts had gone. 

He reached for another piece of the cold pizza. “Remember talking about the bases?” he asked just before taking the first bite.

“I think you said we skipped some,” Daryl said, looking confused. 

“Third was… oral,” Rick reminded him, trying to act as though needing to chew was the reason for his hesitation. His nerves betrayed him though, making him nearly drop his pizza. He managed to get sauce and congealed cheese all over his fingers and reached for one of the napkins on the coffee table, hoping he wouldn’t blush under Daryl’s gaze.

Daryl reached out and caught Rick’s wrist in a strong hand, pulling the napkin out of his grasp. Rick looked up at him.

Daryl met his eyes, his gaze dark and intent. 

“You don’t need that,” he told Rick. Without breaking eye contact, he brought Rick’s hand up to his mouth, licking the sauce off his fingers, one by one, slowly and thoroughly, finally pulling Rick’s middle finger into his mouth, sucking it provocatively.

The image was straight out of Rick’s recent fantasy. He sighed, wetting his lips in anticipation. “You’re… good at that,” he managed to say.

“Been told I got a oral fixation,” Daryl said without letting Rick’s finger slip from his lips. 

“Really?” Rick was spellbound as Daryl let the digit nearly slide out of his pursed mouth, then sucked it back in, swirling his tongue around it at the same time. “You like to put stuff in your mouth then.”

“Yeah. Like the taste. Like to feel the reactions when I do it,” Daryl admitted, the intimate position obviously allowing him to say more than he normally would. 

“You seem… to enjoy it.” Rick was getting hard again, the sight and feel of Daryl sucking his finger turning him on, making him want that talented mouth on his cock, wanting to feel that and to watch Daryl do it for him. He swallowed hard. “I never… sucked a guy.” He knew he was stating the obvious but wondered if Daryl would mind his inexperience.

“Kiss pretty good,” Daryl said, finally releasing Rick’s finger and moving in to meet his lips, his mouth wet with drool from his sucking. He slid his tongue deep into Rick’s mouth, then drew back. “I’m thinkin’ that mouth of yours was made to suck dick.” He reached up to wipe at the moisture his kiss had left on Rick’s lips, his expression a little smug. 

The crude words sent Rick’s arousal soaring. The thought of putting his mouth on Daryl’s cock excited him. He’d thought about doing that for another man for months before he’d met Daryl. Now he would finally have the chance and he wanted to make it good for him. To let Daryl show him what he liked, how best to get him off. He wanted to know what it would be like to have his mouth filled with the other man’s come. 

But he hadn’t even gotten a good look at Daryl’s cock yet. How big was it, really? Could Rick manage? Would he mess up and make a fool of himself? Maybe his thought that he no longer had to worry about making a good impression had been premature. 

Daryl’s expression had changed to one of concern. He pressed his fingers to Rick’s temple. “What’re ya worryin’ about?”

Rick shook his head, trying to dismiss his naïve concerns. “Dumb stuff. I just… wanta get a good look at you… all of you. Tried to look down the last time but your hands were in the way.”

“Ain’t nothin’ special. Same as everybody’s got.”

Rick had a feeling that Daryl’s estimation wasn’t something others would agree on. “I’ve thought about being with another man a long time,” Rick told him. “Been with you two times now and I still haven’t gotten a good look at your dick. We haven’t taken even our clothes off.” Daryl’s face went blank and he looked away. “I mean, I already love looking at you. Kept thinking about your shoulders, your arms, when we first met. You don’t look like any other guy, Daryl. I’m sure the rest of you is as sexy as what I’ve seen so far.” Daryl let his hands fall from Rick’s shoulders. Rick was messing up, making him uncomfortable. “I’m not talking size, man,” he assured him, though he doubted Daryl’s attitude had anything to do with that. The bulge in his pants and the erection that had been sliding against Rick’s earlier had told him plenty. 

“What?” Rick asked, reaching to tug at Daryl’s shoulder. At least the other man didn’t flinch under his touch, Rick noticed with relief.

“’m not some show off,” he said finally, reluctantly. “Told ya how it was before. Never went _to bed_ with somebody. Never did no strip tease. Ain’t about to start now.”

“I’m not asking for that,” Rick said, keeping his voice soft. “Can you blame me for wanting a good look at what you’ve got down here though?” Tentatively, he let his hand grope between Daryl’s legs. “Can’t find you to suck if I have my eyes closed.” His attempt at humor fell flat, not that he’d really expected it to work. He took a breath and tried again. “I’ve been in locker rooms. It’s not like I’ve got the greatest body or biggest dick.” What would Daryl think of the long ugly scar that ran from Rick’s sternum to his abdomen, the bullet holes that had left their mark on his chest? About the weight he’d never regained since being in the hospital? He hadn’t planned far enough ahead to give any consideration to how he’d feel when Daryl finally got a look at him without his clothes either. 

“Your dick works,” Daryl said, his voice gruff, “that’s all that matters. You’ve got enough strength to hold me close. Told you I ain’t never had no relationship. Not like this… not at all. Makin’ this up as I go along cause I don’t have a fuckin’ clue what I’m doin’. Gotta expect me to be kinda stupid about it.”

Rick sighed, wanting to tell Daryl he was anything but stupid. “I’m kinda stupid too,” he said instead. Too stupid to think about what Carol had told him she’d seen, obviously. He’d just been flirting, but with someone as awkward as Daryl, he should have known better. 

“We’re both figuring this out, remember?” he said, putting all his sincerity in his voice. “It’s new for both of us. You wanta to keep just rubbin’ off together, clothes on, that’s fine. You want to stick to the couch or the wall or the _floor_ , I’m okay with that. Hell, if you want to spend the night on the couch while I sleep in my room -- ”

“Shut up, Rick,” Daryl said, covering Rick’s mouth with his own to silence him. Shocked, Rick just sat there, not even reaching to pull Daryl closer. When the kiss ended, the other man gave him a glare. “Ain’t no teenager. Ain’t crazy either. You wanta be layin’ down, ya said, so ya don’t fall over. Wanta get a good look at my junk.” Daryl shrugged, then nodded, agreement evident. “Comfortable bed, you with a good view, both of us gettin’ off again -- sounds like a good time. I ain’t never turned that sorta thing down.” He kissed Rick again, hard, as if for emphasis. 

The speech had been one of the longest Daryl had ever made in Rick’s presence and while decidedly not eloquent, it had the honesty that Rick loved about him. Leave it to Daryl to boil things down to their most succinct, to their essence. _Both of us getting’ off again – sounds like a good time,_ he’d said. That sounded pretty good to Rick too. 

“Okay, then,” he said, determined not to second guess himself again, at least not tonight. He hoped he could also manage not to put his foot in his mouth too. Daryl had gotten down to basics, so would he. “You wanta take this into the bedroom now then?”

Daryl seemed to square his shoulders, nodding once again. 

“Okay, then.” Rick glanced at the mess on the coffee table. There was still most of the second pizza left. “I’ll put this away. We might want it for breakfast.” He started picking up the boxes and empty beer and Coke containers. “Bathroom’s down the hall,” he said, knowing that if Daryl needed it he was capable of finding it on his own, but part of Rick did feel he should be the host.

“Mind if I grab a shower?” Daryl surprised him by asking. When Rick looked at him he waved a hand over himself. “Sawdust.”

“Sure,” Rick nodded. “Towels’re in the bathroom closet. Help yourself.” He knew better than to even jokingly suggest they take one together. Maybe someday, but not tonight. 

“Be just a minute,” Daryl said, climbing off the couch and heading down the hall.

Rick hurried to clean up, not bothering to do much more than shove their empties in the trash and stick the pizza box in the fridge. He locked his front door, listening to the sound of water running in his bathroom, realizing that this was the first time someone other than Rick himsef had taken a shower in his lonely apartment. When Daryl got out, he would grab a quick one himself and then he and his overnight guest would both be in his bedroom. Maybe it would be awkward, maybe spectacular – either way, Rick was looking forward to it more than anything in his recent memory.

In a few moments, Daryl emerged, fully clothed as he’d been before his shower. Rick was somewhat disappointed but not altogether surprised; he hadn’t actually expected Daryl to saunter out naked or even with just a towel wrapped around him. They looked at each other from opposite ends of the hall.

“Bedroom’s that way,” Rick said, nodding to the left. “I’m gonna grab a shower too.”

Daryl, awkward as the day they’d met, ducked his head. “I’ll wait out here.” 

Rick took a few steps toward him, stopping at the door to the bathroom. “You don’t have to do that. Go on in, get comfortable.” And by comfortable, he meant ‘take off whatever you want to take off.’ He hoped Daryl would pick up on his meaning without having to be more explicit. “I’ll join you in five minutes.”

Daryl didn’t answer in words, showing his agreement in one of his characteristic grunts. Rick smothered his smile. Daryl shrugged again and turned to head into Rick’s room.

Rick entered the bathroom and hastily stripped, turning on the shower, twisting the knob to hot. He glanced around, noting that even though he’d been quick, Daryl had left virtually no trace of his presence, save the damp shower curtain and neatly folded towel over the bar, and Rick supposed he was trying his best to be a good guest. The man likely had never spent a night at someone else’s place. The honor and responsibility of being the first to ask Daryl to stay the night wasn’t lost on Rick. He climbed into the shower and washed quickly, wanting to be clean and fresh for the man waiting in his bedroom. He was still half hard, despite their awkward conversation, anticipation tingling through his veins. He wanted this time to be sweet, unrushed. He wanted to make love to Daryl, show him what it was to take your time with another person, what it was like to be in a ‘comfortable bed’ with someone who cared about you. 

Finished, Rick climbed out and dried off, meeting his own eyes as he wiped condensation from the mirror. He was about to go to bed with a man. He was excited, horny, anxious, but it all felt dreamlike, a fantasy about to come true. The fact that it was Daryl made it better than any fantasy though. He rubbed a hand over his chin, noting the stubble there. If it were Lori waiting in the bedroom, he would have shaved, used his good cologne. For their anniversary, he’d once scattered rose petals over the bed and she’d loved the gesture. Daryl Dixon wasn’t someone you needed rose petals to impress and he didn’t mind Rick’s beard stubble. Liked it, in fact. Rick smiled at his reflection. The gestures Daryl liked were what he wanted to learn about now, the kinds of touches that sent him over the edge, the places on his body that would respond to Rick’s fingers or lips. Flowers or flowery words weren’t what he wanted from Rick, just pure honesty as only another man appreciated it. Sensations were important to a man, deeds not words, and Rick hoped that his actions would speak to Daryl, tell him that he was cherished. He didn’t have the right words himself and Daryl would be too embarrassed to hear Rick speak them if he did. 

Rick cupped his hand over his mouth, blowing his breath to try to sniff it. Pizza and sleep were the scents he got and while Rick liked the taste of Daryl’s cigarettes in their kisses, he didn’t want his own sleep breath to turn Daryl off. He reached for his mouthwash, smiling as he realized it had been moved out of place a bit. Daryl must have used it too and the idea he wanted to make a good impression on Rick caused him to adore the man even more. 

Rick hesitated then, not wanting, as Daryl had, to don his day old clothes again. He didn’t feel quite right about not putting something on though either. His robe was hanging from its hook on the back of the bathroom door. Rick seldom wore it; there was really no need when he was home alone, but now he was glad he’d left it there. It was a soft waffle weave cotton, light blue in color, a gift from Lori one Christmas so long ago that it now had little sentiment attached to it. Rick shrugged it on over his bare body, cinching the belt to give himself courage. He made sure it was fully closed up to his collarbone, suddenly not wanting to have his surgical scars seen so easily. He stepped from the bathroom and headed down the hall.

The door was open, soft light coming from the bedroom. Daryl had apparently turned on the reading lamp Rick kept on his bedside table and moved it off to the corner of his dresser, where it faced the wall to bathe the room in golden shadows. It seemed in character that Daryl didn’t want much light but had left a little on for Rick to be able to see what he’d asked to see. He doubted if Daryl even knew what his thoughtfulness meant to Rick, that he was willing to let Rick see him… 

The man himself was in the bed already, sitting up against the headboard on the right, the covers over his hips, his shirt still on but unbuttoned. A quick glance told Rick that he’d left his pants and vest, along underwear, over the chair. His boots were on the floor beside it.

“Nice robe,” Daryl said, his voice sounding gruff and sultry to Rick’s ears. 

“Thanks.” Rick approached the bed, suddenly awkward. He sat on the left side of the mattress, half turned toward Daryl. His hands, needing something to do, went to his belt but then made no move to undo it. His hands clenched in the soft fabric. “I’m… not about the whole strip tease thing either,” he admitted. 

“S’okay,” Daryl’s voice was soothing, patient. He reached up, fingers again combing through Rick’s curls, tucking a strand behind his ear. Then those knowing fingers stroked down the side of Rick’s face, over his jaw and down his throat, careful, just touching what was there to be seen, only after a long moment, sliding down to caress along the edge of the robe’s collar. Daryl’s fingers came to rest just at the place where the sides of the robe crossed a few inches below Rick’s Adam’s apple. “You don’t got to hide from me,” he assured Rick.

Rick felt himself flush. “Actually,” he began, “you know I was shot… they had to operate, do open heart on me.” He swallowed, suddenly as ashamed of the surgery scars and bullet holes as he had been when Lori had looked at him without his bandages for the first time. His head told him Daryl wouldn’t look and find him wanting, but his heart… 

“So you’ve got some scars,” Daryl’s rough voice said, gentle as the touch of his fingers. “Ain’t everybody?”

Rick couldn’t get a word out. Was Daryl trying to tell him about his own? The ones Rick knew Daryl didn’t know he even had an inkling of? Was Rick being foolish to want to hide scars he had gotten in the line of duty while Daryl had them from… whatever had been done to him? 

Wordlessly, Rick untied his belt, letting his robe fall open. In the dim light, he cast his gaze down, trying to see what Daryl must see. 

The other man didn’t say one word. He just eased the robe off Rick’s shoulders, pulled back the covers and helped him lie down. Rick only then noticed that Daryl had piled the extra pillows Rick kept in the closet onto his side of the bed, as if he’d wanted to offer Rick extra comfort, extra softness, as they got to know each other better. Reclining on the pile of pillows, Rick watched as Daryl turned to him, wrapping one arm around and under Rick’s shoulders, leaning up on his elbow to gaze down into his eyes. 

Daryl leaned down slowly, joining their lips together in the tenderest of kisses. “I could turn the light off…” he offered when they broke the kiss. “But you said you wanted to see me.”

“This is fine,” Rick assured him. “Funny, didn’t even think about how I looked when I was dreaming about doing this with you.”

Daryl finally let his eyes slide down Rick’s torso, his glance only curious, not judging. 

“Were you in the hospital a long time?” he asked after a moment of contemplation.

“Months,” Rick managed to say. “They operated twice. One to get the bullets out -- ” His hand rose to point out the two irregular scars on his upper left chest, “ -- and the other when my heart stopped. I was in a coma, never knew it was happening. Four weeks later, when I woke up, didn’t even realize how much time had passed. I was alone in the hospital room, nothing but a vase of wilted flowers there to show anyone had ever been around. Lori had brought them but hadn’t changed ‘em out and the nurses, I guess they had better things to do than throw out dead flowers. It seemed so quiet, I couldn’t hear a thing at first, like the world had ended or something. Tried to get up, fell on my face and that’s when sound kicked in again. Monitor was beeping like crazy, the door burst open, people filled up the room and that’s when I found out that I’d been unconscious for a month.”

“Man…” Daryl’s eyes clouded, worry in them. “And that was less than a year ago?”

“Eight months now. Sometimes it seems like yesterday. Sometimes it’s like it was forever. I don’t… you know… look at myself much. Try not to, if you want to know the truth. Try to forget. Doctor Bob says they’ll continue to fade with time.”

Daryl lifted his hand, letting it hover over Rick’s chest. “Okay if I…?” he asked.

Rick nodded, watching as Daryl’s fingers descended. They landed softly, just at the top of the surgical scar that marked where they’d opened his body to get at his heart. As if touching an infant, Daryl trailed his fingers down the length of it, looking puzzled and concerned. 

“Still hurt?” he asked without meeting Rick’s eyes. 

“Not too much,” Rick answered honestly. “Pulls sometimes.” 

Daryl lifted his hand to where the bullets had entered Rick’s body. “Big rounds,” he mused. 

“Shotgun shells. Got me just over the vest.” 

Daryl bent over him then, his lips landing on the bullet marks, more gentle than Rick had imagined he could be, kissing the scars, lipping at them as if to heal them in his own way. “You coulda died,” he murmured, lips moving to the long surgical scar. “We’d’a never met…” He kissed his way tenderly down Rick’s chest, then raised up to look into his eyes again. Rick didn’t know what he was looking for in his gaze, but he met Daryl’s eyes steadily, trying to show him how much his acceptance and caring meant. “Gonna make love to ya, Rick,” Daryl said then. 

Rick let Daryl take control then, let him kiss him breathless, let his hands wander all over every part of Rick they could reach, exploring him like he was some piece of wood Daryl had carved, making sure every bit of him was smoothed and sanded to perfection. His nipples, never paid attention to by his wife, were licked and nipped to hardness, the sensations a total surprise to Rick as he shuddered under Daryl’s lips. His belly was bitten playfully, Daryl’s mouth chasing shivers. His hip bones were mouthed, then, as Daryl dropped his head, rubbed by both his cheeks, the scruff of his beard making Rick’s skin tingle. Daryl shifted, moving so his face was at the level of Rick’s groin, looking at his erection as it trembled and wavered above Rick’s belly. Just as Rick was about to beg Daryl to suck him, the other man simply laid his head on Rick’s thigh, tantalizing the skin there with the roughness of his whiskers. Rick’s legs fell open in helpless need.

“What about that oral fixation?” Rick finally managed, canting his hips up hopefully.

“Never heard of delayed gratification, Grimes?” Daryl scolded him, his eyes mischievous but hooded with arousal. 

But he didn’t make Rick wait much longer. First, he trailed one finger from root to tip, making Rick squirm and sigh. He needed more, much more. Then Daryl, trying to hide a smile, wrapped Rick’s erection in his hand, as if gauging his girth and weight, then stroked him, long and deep and careful, just this side of tight enough. 

“God, Daryl,” Rick moaned, not sure if he was complimenting the man or pleading with him. 

Daryl shifted again, tipping Rick’s cock up so he could lick just at the head with his tongue, first an almost tentative swipe as if to barely taste, then a longer, wetter, languorous lick that Rick tried to keep from thrusting into. He didn’t quite manage it though.

Daryl leaned back, meeting his eyes. “No hurry. We got all night, Rick,” he told him as if this was a revelation to Daryl as well. “Never got to take my time before. Kinda want to try out this foreplay shit.”

“O-okay then,” Rick agreed. He would have agreed to anything at that moment, he realized, as long as Daryl would keep his hand on his dick, and consider licking him there again. 

“We got all hot so fast before,” Daryl went on, eyes now contemplating Rick’s cock as if it was the most delectable thing he’d ever seen. “Maybe that’s why you… you know…”

He didn’t say ‘passed out’ or ‘got dizzy,’ which Rick was thankful for. “Maybe,” he agreed noticing how shaky his voice sounded with Daryl handling his dick that way.

And Daryl was handling him expertly, looking him over, eyes as intent as they were when he was lining up a shot in darts. He weighed Rick in his palm, caressed him over and over, then let his fingers drift lower to investigate Rick’s balls. 

The gasp of need Rick emitted then sounded high pitched and desperate to his ears but he didn't worry about it. While his hand was busy between his legs, Daryl finally put his mouth on Rick’s cock, licking and taking him in slowly, as if savoring every inch. Deeper and deeper he took Rick’s straining erection, until he had swallowed him whole.

And that’s when he finally started sucking. 

“God!” Rick’s shout could have woken the neighbors but he didn’t care in the slightest. As good as Daryl’s mouth had felt sucking just his finger, it was a million times better to feel that suction on his cock, to feel Daryl’s tongue swirling while his lips worked up and down the length, while his hands tickled and pulled and tugged at his sac. Rick threw out his hands, one landing in the sheet next to him, the other finding the rough edge of Daryl’s cut off sleeve. He couldn’t have gripped gently if his life had depended on it, but Daryl paid no mind, just continued to suck him as if he’d been starving for years and Rick was sustenance. 

His hips began thrusting upward then, into Daryl’s mouth, legs widening in hopes that those fingers would touch him everywhere else, sensation pushing consciousness aside until Rick was nothing but a wanton bunch of nerve endings, only held together by Daryl’s mouth and hands. 

He heard himself yell, knew he was about to come. Daryl let him slip out of his mouth then, but only for a second. He took a firmer grip around Rick’s shoulders, as if unwilling to let him lose control without being held in Daryl’s firm embrace, then Daryl went down on him again, taking Rick deep like he’d never been taken before, Daryl’s free hand enfolding and squeezing his balls. Rick fell apart then, body shaking through his release, but he never lost awareness, knowing that Daryl had him safe and wouldn’t let him go. 

He came back to himself slowly, gasping for breath, but he felt no pain, no dizziness this time. It had been perfect. _Daryl_ was perfect. Was this a man who had never had a slow sex session with someone else? Really? A man who hadn’t been with another person for years? He was a natural. A natural born giver, a natural lover, knowing exactly what his partner wanted and needed. Rick loved him. Loved him so much.

He almost let the words fall from his lips, but managed to choke them back, knowing his reticent lover would be abashed to hear them, would think it was just the orgasm talking. Later, and Rick knew there would be a later, he would tell him then, another time. When he’d had time to show Daryl how he felt a few times, then he would put it into words. 

Instead, he lifted his hand to Daryl’s bowed head, threading his fingers through the man’s damp hair, loving its softness, the contrast between the hardness of his features when he didn’t let someone know him, feeling blessed that Daryl was learning to open up to Rick now.

Then Daryl was moving, crawling back up Rick’s body, mouth still attentively caressing along the way, his lips feeling swollen as they kissed up Rick’s sweaty torso and chest to his face. He met Rick’s eyes, looking a question into them. Rick was still catching his breath.

“You good?” Daryl asked, clearly needing the confirmation.

Rick nodded, licked his lips, drew a deep breath. “I’m wonderful.” He reached for Daryl and took the other man into his arms, kissing him gratefully, deeply, trying to put everything he couldn’t say aloud into his kiss. When Daryl came up for air, Rick smiled up at him. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll… try to return the favor.”

Daryl gave one of his noncommittal grunts. “You don’t gotta try to suck me off tonight, Rick. I don’t think I could last.” With that, he leaned back, dropping down to the surface of the mattress, his legs falling open to reveal his swollen erection. Red, dripping, harder than Rick had ever seen another man’s dick, it was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever witnessed.

“Daryl…” With that, Rick was rolling over, staring in unabashed reverence, the thought that Daryl was this aroused from making love to _him_ making his mouth water and his hands ache to caress him. 

“You wanted to look at it,” Daryl’s voice grated out. Rick, realizing he was on the knife-edge of arousal, reached for him then, his fingers curving around the heated shaft to give Daryl what he needed. He felt even harder than he’d looked, so stiff and hot Rick wanted to come again just from touching him. He wrapped his fingers around it and stroked him, hard, tight, deep… once, twice… and Daryl was coming. 

His body shook and twisted, wrenching through his orgasm, looking destroyed, all by the simple touch of Rick’s hand. What poured over his fingers was more than Rick expected, given that he had come once already that evening. God, he loved that he had done this for Daryl, that he could feel the warm stickiness of his release for himself, could watch him writhe and break a sweat and gasp as he finished for Rick. 

The next time, Rick vowed silently, he would make love to Daryl, he would kiss him all over, find the spots that turned him on and he would suck him too, give him the kind of pleasure Daryl had given Rick. Now, he simply reached into the drawer of his nightstand for the hand towel he’d placed there the other day, using it to wipe Daryl’s cock and belly off for him while he pulled himself back together.

After a long moment, Daryl swiped the damp hair out of his eyes and looked over at Rick. He smiled, slow and happier than Rick had ever seen him. His eyes looked full, all his heart showing in his gaze, open completely to Rick as never before.

“You good?” Rick couldn’t resist asking, even though he knew the answer. 

Daryl sat up and wrapped him in his arms, bearing Rick back down onto the bed, kissing him deeply again. He brought his own arms up to surround Daryl’s shoulders, the cotton fabric of his worn out shirt smooth under his fingertips. They lay quietly for a long moment both of them still a bit breathless.

Rick held him gently, fingers moving over the shirt material, everything he had put together about Daryl’s life in his mind, the hushed words Carol had said overlaying his own perceptions. Daryl had kept him safe here in Rick’s bed. Could Rick convey to him that Daryl was safe here too?

“Can I ask you something?” he finally said softly, lips close to Daryl’s ear.

There was a hint of resignation in Daryl’s response, as if he knew perfectly well the direction Rick’s thoughts were going in. “Might as well.”

“Why didn’t you take your shirt off?” 

Daryl stopped breathing for a moment but he didn’t pull away. His body tensed in Rick’s arms though and Rick wasn’t surprised by the reaction. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered then. “You don’t have to.”

Daryl demurred, sitting up and not meeting Rick’s eyes as he shrugged out of the sleeveless button up. He let it drop next to him on top of the covers. “I said everybody’s got scars,” he reminded Rick, his voice dull, lifeless. “I got some too.” 

Finally meeting Rick’s eyes, he then said, “You wanta see mine?”

“Only if you want me to see,” Rick breathed out, caressing Daryl’s shoulder. 

“Don’t matter now,” Daryl responded. “I know you won’t judge me, Rick.”

“I wouldn’t,” Rick promised him, sitting up. “Never.”

With one of his typical nods, Daryl turned, just enough that Rick could see.

 _Oh, my God…_ Only by sheer force of will, Rick kept the exclamation in. He’d seen many things as a sheriff’s deputy, thought he had seen it all, all the bad things one person could do to the body of another. Thought he had figured out enough from the things Daryl said and those he didn’t, from the flinches, from the awkward diffidence in his manner… but no, Rick hadn’t even come close.

Daryl’s back, which at one time might have been beautiful in its muscled strength, was marred by criss-crossed scars and welts, made by… Rick didn’t know what, belts or belt buckles, cigarettes or an iron maybe in one place… raised tissue that had never healed, should have had stitches but hadn’t, should have been bandaged and left to heal but had been cut open time and time and time again. Someone – some savage – had hurt this man many times… probably when he was just a boy and couldn’t fight back, broken his spirit along with his flesh. He had expected maybe the signs of one or two incidents but this was evidence of nothing more than long term abuse, unimaginable suffering. And then, on his right shoulder, Rick finally noticed the tattoos. Two figures – demons perhaps? – flew in the air, swirling around each other, mute witnesses to his pain, put there perhaps in defiance of the ugliness of the rest of his back, or maybe to add to it. No, no… he wasn’t ugly, never could be. He was a good person, a beautiful person, who had looked at Rick’s scars and not thought less of him, yet who had endured more pain than Rick could ever have. Being shot was nothing compared to this, this… travesty. Anger and pain flushed through Rick, emotion threatened to choke him. He wasn't a man who easily shed tears but they trembled in his eyes now, made his throat burn and his heart ache.

“Daryl…” 

The other man turned back to regard Rick, his face nearly blank with emotion denied. 

“Now you know.” His gaze left Rick’s, sliding down, away, hiding.

Rick bent his head, trying to meet Daryl’s eyes. “Yeah, now I know.” There were no words, only questions. But Rick knew he couldn’t bombard Daryl with them, couldn’t break the fragile trust Daryl had shown him just to satisfy his curiosity. Only one thing mattered to Rick – that it hadn’t been Daryl’s brother who had done this to him. If it was Merle, Rick knew he’d willingly choke the life out of him for daring to do this to the man he still called his ‘baby brother.’ And if Merle hadn’t done it, how could he have stood by and let it happen?

“Can you – can you just tell me one thing?” Rick hated the idea of even voicing what he needed to know. He couldn’t, shouldn’t… yet he had to ask.

Daryl saved him the trouble. “Don’t really wanta talk about it,” he said, voice so raw and distant Rick could barely catch the words. “It was my dad.” He paused, letting that sink in for Rick, then went on. “Merle… he didn’t know for a long time.”

Rick nodded silently. He couldn’t hold back then, he opened his arms and Daryl let him fold him close, leaning almost gratefully into Rick’s strength, shaking a little as Rick held him, as if the revelation had taken too much out of him. 

Rick slowly leaned them back, so they could recline together in his bed. “I’ve got you,” he told Daryl. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.” Daryl shuddered once and went still, as if a mighty effort had him containing his emotions. “It’s okay,” Rick whispered once again. He would be glad to hold Daryl all night, anything to prove that it could be okay. 

It wasn’t though. It really couldn’t be. But he couldn’t say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's been a long while. Sorry, dear readers. I've had some bad RL stuff kick me in the butt recently and it was hard to get back to writing. But I give you 8,563 words here, with two sex scenes for your trouble, plus some movement in their relationship and big revelations. Next chapter won't be so long in coming, I promise and beware, the shit is about to hit the fan as far as the play goes! Drama! Suspense! Merle! The TV news! Southern Homophobia! How will our boys deal with it and will it affect their new love affair?!
> 
> Tonight, Sept. 30, 2016 I celebrate the one year anniversary of the posting of my first all Rickly fic here on AO3. I still hadn't met anyone in the fandom, still hadn't made contact with the RWG... but that came soon after and now I have so many wonderful friends in this fandom. It's been an amazing year and I know I'll continue to follow TWD for a long time. I'm serial monogamist in my fandoms. so Rickyl is it for me for the foreseeable future. 
> 
> Thanks as always to MaroonCamaro and MermaidSheenaz for their amazing beta work and constant support of my efforts. I couldn't do it without you guys!


	21. That's Long Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the night that Daryl stays over with Rick and the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make you wait so long between chapters this time. We're getting down to the time when the play will be opening and the plot will be thickening. I'll try to get back on some sort of decent schedule as we hit the home stretch. I won't say a particular day of the week but I will try to do a chapter about every week. 
> 
> Thanks for all your support, kudos and comments, dear readers. I'm so grateful to you all for sticking with me on this.
> 
> And thanks for MaroonCamaro and MermaidSheenaz, without whom this fic would not be betaed and I would be a lot less happy.

_Chapter 21: That’s Long Distance_

 

It was a long night. Rick wasn’t used to sleeping with someone in his bed. Not that he minded having Daryl there with him; on the contrary, he loved it. It was so good to not be alone, to be with this man who had taken up residence in his brain and in his heart. Daryl was big and his body was warm and he moved a lot while he slept, jostling Rick awake when an elbow poked him in the stomach or when a foot slid between his legs.

Yes, Daryl slept fitfully. Rick realized that the other man probably was less used to sharing a bed than he was. Daryl took up a lot of space, rolled back and forth, groaned and muttered without waking, though Rick couldn’t understand how he managed it. He gasped more than once. He cussed. Rick had been woken twice by a loud “fuck you, asshole!” The first time he’d thought that Daryl was speaking to him, only to realize his visitor wasn’t even awake. Not ten minutes later, Daryl had yelled it again, this time sounding so broken that Rick sat up and leaned over him. He’d been half afraid to touch him, thinking that Daryl might strike out if contacted while he was asleep. Rick knew cops and former soldiers who told their spouses never to wake them by a touch on their shoulder – and knew a few wives who had ended up with a black eye or bruised face when they’d forgotten that admonition. 

But the curse had been followed by a loan groan, a sound so full of pain and anguish that Rick had moved on instinct. He’d lain back down as close as he dared, murmuring to his sleeping lover and finally putting his arm across Daryl’s chest to enfold him. 

Daryl hadn’t woken, but he had at least settled down, seemingly comforted by Rick’s presence. Rick had fallen back to sleep, holding the other man, wishing he could take away the memories that were no doubt plaguing him during the night.

Towards dawn, the quiet was broken once again, this time by a shout. Daryl was sitting up in the bed, staring sightlessly. He was panting, body soaked in sweat. Rick, startled awake, was more concerned than ever. For a long moment, Daryl didn’t even seem to breathe, and then, with another deep gasp, he woke up. He glanced around in confusion, then kicked the covers off and stumbled out of the bed.

Rick, fearing the man was about to begin pulling on his clothes to leave, spoke softly.

“Daryl.” 

The other man turned, eyeing Rick as if he’d never seen him before. 

Rick sat up and made to head towards Daryl. 

“No -- ” A harsh plea, an outstretched hand to ward him off.

Rick didn’t know what to do. He felt responsible. He’d wanted Daryl to feel comfortable staying with him, but it didn’t seem that was possible. 

“What do you need?” Rick asked finally, willing to give Daryl anything, hoping he could really help him.

Daryl shook his head, glancing around in consternation. He finally strode to the window. Shoving back the curtain, he looked out at the night sky. 

“Probably can’t see many stars,” Rick said, keeping his voice low. “We’re too far in town.”

Daryl didn’t answer him right away, but his breathing seemed to be slowing to normal. “I see the moon,” he responded at last. 

“That’s good.”

Silently, without looking at him, Daryl nodded. When he seemed like he was planning on standing at the window all night, Rick spoke again. “Can I come over there with you?”

Daryl’s head dropped, then lifted a bit. He didn’t look at Rick, but he nodded. His shoulders looked tense, his back shining with perspiration. The scars seemed to gleam in the light from the lamp, moving with his every breath, and Rick was struck again by the gruesome evidence of Daryl’s past. He so regretted asking him why he hadn’t removed his shirt.

He slipped out of bed and approached him, suddenly reminded of their nakedness. Daryl still had his gaze fixed on the night sky and wasn’t looking at Rick.

“Gonna put my arms around you,” he said when he was close enough. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Daryl’s voice sounded sad, and very tired. 

Rick put his right arm around Daryl’s shoulders and his left he wrapped around Daryl’s waist. He eased himself closer slowly, carefully, until his chest was molded to Daryl’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Rick said then, his lips against Daryl’s ear.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to take your shirt off.”

“You didn’t make me,” Daryl told him. “I… don’t wanta hide stuff from ya, Rick.”

“Did… showing me… make you have nightmares?” He wanted to kick himself but he was fumbling in the dark here. 

Daryl was quiet for a moment, then he shrugged. “Probably.” He patted Rick’s arm awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. Not your fault.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’ve slept very well though.”

“Never do, really. Sorry to keep wakin’ you up. Not used to this.”

“Did you ever spend the night with a guy before?”

Daryl shook his head. “Never had no sleep overs as a kid either.” 

Rick pressed a kiss to Daryl’s moist throat. “Wish your first had been better then.”

Daryl leaned back against Rick. “Started out pretty good.” The words were so low, Rick barely caught them. Was Daryl flirting? If anything, he was trying to let Rick know he wasn’t as upset about his nightmare as he had been a few moments ago and that was a relief.

“There’s a bit more of it left.” Rick couldn’t see the clock on his nightstand and he’d left his watch in the bathroom. But with the moon shining through the window, he figured it was a couple hours before dawn. He ran a hand over Daryl’s chest, not really seeking to arouse him, but Daryl groaned anyway, reaching to grasp Rick’s wrist and tug his hand downward. 

Rick didn’t have it in him to resist. He found Daryl’s half hard cock easily and wrapped his hand around it, stroking, more comfortable with the act now, more confident. Daryl growled low in his throat, hips thrusting into Rick’s grasp, then nudging back against him. 

Daryl leaned back into him, letting his head fall onto Rick’s shoulder, exposing his throat. Rick nuzzled into Daryl’s throat, kissing, licking, nibbling, all the while stroking his increasing length. It crossed Rick’s mind that maybe Daryl had changed the subject to keep from talking about his nightmare – or maybe it was just that he needed the distraction. Rick wasn’t about to push him to talk about it and it was definitely safer and easier to oblige him. Touching Daryl felt so… damn… good.

Rick licked his way up to Daryl’s ear, his hand tightening as he pulled at Daryl’s cock. “Let’s go back to bed,” he husked, hoping his guest would agree.

Daryl nodded, turning his head to brush a kiss against Rick’s cheek. Rick led him to the rumpled bed, tossing back the covers and urging Daryl to lie down. 

Settling on his back, Daryl looked up at him, and the naked trust in his eyes was wondrous to behold. Rick had seen Daryl look hesitant, embarrassed, wary, argumentative, but never as though he were totally open to another person, showing his feelings this way. He resolved to take special care of the man he was holding here in his bed, to never let him down, never make him regret giving him his trust. 

Rick leaned over him, kissing his mouth, his cheek, his chin, then he began moving lower, loving Daryl thoroughly with his lips. He kissed his way down Daryl’s chest, treating his nipples to the kind of attention Daryl had shown Rick’s. As he licked over the hard little nubs , Daryl shivered, sighing, his body relaxing further. Rick smiled as he sucked one into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, drawing a deep groan from Daryl. He let it go, then used both hands to tweak the aroused bits as he mouthed further south, tongue licking its way down Daryl’s torso, following the line of light colored hair that pointed the way to his dick. Stopping at Daryl’s navel, Rick dallied there for a moment, enjoying the way every lick and kiss made the other man jump and sigh. 

Rick just couldn’t help repeating the gesture over and over, noting how Daryl gasped and shivered for him as he continued the teasing. 

“Rick… Rick…” Daryl gasped out, his voice broken and halting.

Rick glanced up and was surprised to see the face that was so often serious and implacable now wide-eyed and flushed with arousal. Daryl’s eyelashes were fluttering, his lips were open and panting and his hands were bunched in the sheets. His whole body was twitching, trembling, as Rick took him apart with lips and tongue and fingers. 

“What, Daryl?” Rick asked, his voice deep with his own need. Daryl looked like he was trying to answer but couldn’t. Rick glanced downward and saw the man’s straining erection bobbing close by. He reached for it, taking careful hold, sizing it up, getting a feel for its length and width, its weight and scent. “This what you want?” he breathed, watching for Daryl’s response. 

“Y-yeah… please, Rick…” Daryl tossed his head from side to side, looking barely coherent with need. It occurred to Rick that probably no one had ever toyed with him before, nobody had taken their time to love him slowly, to be concerned only with Daryl’s pleasure. That was what Rick wanted to do – to give pleasure to this wonderful man who had known so much pain, to make up for the loneliness of his life. He wanted to explore every inch of him, let him feel things he’d never felt before but he didn’t want him to beg. Rick was willing, eager, ready to give Daryl all the love he could handle.

He took a deep breath; he opened his lips. And for the first time in his life, Rick put his mouth on another man’s dick. The idea of it was enough to turn him on even more than he was already, then the taste hit him, the warmth, the scent. He’d fantasized about being with a man, about being with Daryl and had looked forward to seeing Daryl’s cock, to take it in his hand and get him off. But this… this was the real thing, to suck a man, to feel his own lips stretch around the shaft, to taste his essence. There was no going back after this, not that Rick had the slightest intention of doing so. 

He could have read up on technique, watched porn videos on the internet but he hadn’t. Rick had wanted to find out for himself what this was like, what loving another man would entail. He knew what he liked, knew what Daryl had done for him. And he had his own instincts. That was enough to get him started and he figured the rest would come naturally.

He couldn’t take it all, so he wrapped his hand around the base and settled into sucking, not even minding that his jaw might get tired if he didn’t do it well and it took awhile. He hoped he was doing okay – Daryl’s moans and sighs seemed to indicate he was on the right track. His free hand began exploring Daryl’s thighs, his balls, and Daryl got stiffer in his mouth. Rick pulled off for a second, licking his way down to the root and back up again, swirling his tongue around the crown, loving the jolt Daryl’s body gave, so Rick repeated that move. There was so much pre-come there, slick and honest on his tongue. Could he make Daryl come this way? Did he need more friction, more tightness? 

“Tell me,” Rick gasped out, “tell me how you like it.”

“Rick…” Daryl looked nearly incoherent already, unable or unwilling to answer. This was kind of new for him too, Rick realized, since it had been a long time since he’d been with someone. 

Rick took the crown into his mouth, sucking carefully, trying to concentrate, to find out Daryl’s reactions to what he was doing.

“Unhhh,” Daryl groaned. His legs fell further open.

Rick decided that Daryl liked what he was doing. He continued the sucking, keeping it gentle, but adding his hand around the base, tugging and tightening his grip, providing friction, the kind he knew helped him get where he wanted to go.

“Ahhh!” Daryl’s reaction this time was louder, more emphatic. 

Rick sucked harder, took his cock deeper. Swirled his tongue the way Daryl had done to him.

“Yes!” Daryl yelled the word, body jerking, hips lifting, beginning to thrust. Rick could tell he was trying to hold back, to not force himself any deeper into Rick’s mouth and he appreciated that, but he also wanted Daryl to feel free to react however he needed. He slid both hands under Daryl’s ass, urging the movement of his hips. His eyes started watering, he nearly choked but managed not to, kind of proud of himself for that. He threw everything he had, everything he knew and all his caring into bringing Daryl off, loving the strength in the body he ministered to, the freedom he felt at doing this act that represented Rick as his true self. Daryl lurched upward, filling Rick’s mouth, his throat, and Rick squeezed his ass in response. Daryl groaned, his pleasure obvious, and with a sigh and a jolt, he came.

Rick swallowed all he had to give, loving the taste, the thickness. He’d always heard it was bitter, but it didn’t seem that way to him. It was smooth, body-hot, maybe kind of salty, but not bad. It was Daryl. 

The concept thrilled through Rick, arousing him physically as well as mentally. He realized he’d been grinding his hips against the bed. Daryl’s legs were right there and it only took the slightest of movements to shift closer, to allow his cock to rub against Daryl’s warm thigh, the friction delicious, just right – and Rick came too.

Long moments later, he realized that his head was pillowed on Daryl’s hip, that Daryl’s fingers were stroking through his sweaty curls. On one pass, Rick managed to kiss the heel of Daryl’s hand, trying to show how he felt. He was just on the edge of sleep, worn out by his orgasm, by his efforts to give Daryl his own. 

“C’mere.” Strong hands pulled at him, urged him upward until he found himself in Daryl’s arms, head on his chest. “So good t’me…” The words were muffled, barely there, but Rick heard them.

He wasn’t sure how to respond. It was easy being good to Daryl. He asked for nothing, yet was there for Rick, giving, responsive, eager, beautiful. The wonder in his voice as he said the words were what tugged at Rick’s heart. This man deserved someone to be good to him. That he had allowed Rick to try, meant everything.

“Kinda like you,” he said finally, lips nuzzling through the light hair on Daryl’s chest. “You might’ve noticed.”

Daryl gave a grunt that indicted he had, sounding amused, more relaxed that Rick had ever known him to be. 

“Feel sleepy now?” he asked, fingers stroking lazily over Daryl’s chest. 

“Mmmnn,” Daryl responded wordlessly.

“Maybe you won’t have any more nightmares.” Rick hoped so.

“Did I have a nightmare?” Daryl asked, his voice still light. “Don’t remember now.”

Rick smiled, kissing Daryl’s chest. “Glad to help with that.”

There was a tug on his shoulders. He lifted up, moving closer, meeting Daryl’s gaze.

“You did help,” he said, eyes serious and intent. “Want you to know – I have ‘em a lot. Not just from you seeing my back. It’s nothin’ new. I… I trust you, Rick.”

The words were so forthright, so earnest, that Rick’s throat tightened. He had known that Daryl had begun to trust him, to be more open with him, but to have it actually said aloud… by this man who had so much trouble expressing himself… Rick felt honored. He leaned forward and kissed Daryl, slowly, gently, trying to convey his appreciation, his feelings. 

They parted after a long moment, Rick nudging at Daryl’s nose with his own. “I trust you too.”

Daryl’s eyes closed briefly. “I know. You’re used to trustin’ though. I’m not.”

“I know that, Daryl. You bein’ able to trust me… it means more to me than you’ll ever know. I’ll never make you sorry for it.”

Daryl just kissed him in response.

 

They woke up to chirping birds and sunlight filling Rick’s bedroom. Rick was sprawled across Daryl’s chest and Daryl’s arms were closed protectively around him. He hadn’t wakened Rick any more during what was left of the night and Rick hoped he had slept soundly and gotten some much needed rest. Rick himself had slept wonderfully. 

After sharing a few lazy kisses, they climbed out of bed and Rick offered to make coffee while Daryl showered. He was scrambling some eggs when his new lover joined him, smelling fresh from Rick’s soap and shampoo, his hair a little damp and sticking up from being toweled dry. Daryl found some mugs in the cupboard and poured the coffee, retrieving the milk from the fridge and the sugar bowl from the counter. He took the spatula from Rick’s hand and took over so Rick could grab his own shower. When Rick returned to the kitchen, he found that Daryl had served up their food on plates and was buttering some toast he had also made.

Rick sat down across from him and dug into his eggs, smiling appreciatively at the taste. It was obvious that Daryl had seasoned them after Rick had exited the kitchen; they were much better than the bland ones Rick usually made for himself. They looked at each other over their breakfast plates, Daryl smiling shyly, Rick warmed from the domesticity of their interaction. 

Rick drained the last of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “So…” he began, not really knowing what the protocol was when a date had slept over. If it were up to him, he’d spend the entire day with Daryl, but he knew the other man had work to do. 

Daryl scraped the last of his eggs off his plate with the corner of his toast and popped it into his mouth, looking satisfied. “So,” he responded. At Rick’s slow smile, he shifted as if he didn’t know what to do next either. “I got some cabinets I gotta put in for a customer,” he said finally, looking as though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I figured you had something like that,” Rick said easily, not wanting Daryl to feel uncomfortable. 

“Gotta go home and get some work stuff first.” Daryl looked away after saying that, no doubt his mind on the fact that when he went home, he would be seeing his brother. 

“Yeah…” Rick was noncommittal.

Daryl shrugged. “If I know Merle, he won’t wake up til at least noon. Probably tied one on last night. Might not even see him before I get to the theater.” 

That sounded like a good thing to Rick. He had no idea how Merle might feel about Daryl not leaving when he’d told him to after the confrontation there yesterday. “You think he noticed you didn’t come in last night?”

Daryl snorted. “If he did, he probably thinks I had another ‘hot date.’ I ain’t about to tell him different.”

“You mean I’m _not_ hot?” Rick pretended to be put out by the statement.

Daryl fixed him with a steady gaze. “Oh, you’re plenty hot,” he said, voice low and sultry. “Thought that the first time I saw you. Know for sure now.”

The openness was endearing. Rick felt himself blushing. “You mean, the first time you saw me at the theater,” he clarified.

“Didn’t say that.” Daryl studied the tiny amount of coffee left in his mug. 

The words and their meaning settled in the pit of Rick’s stomach, leaving him surprised and a bit breathless. The way Daryl had reacted when Rick had come to arrest his brother had seemed to indicate that Daryl didn’t even notice what Rick looked like; anger and hatred usually didn’t leave room for appreciating the object of those emotions looks. 

“Yeah, right,” Rick scoffed. Even if it couldn’t be true, it was nice to hear. 

Daryl leaned toward him, elbows on the table, hair hanging in his eyes. “Rick,” he said, face as serious as Rick had ever seen it, “I’m _gay_.” As if that explained everything.

“Yeah -- ?”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Shit. Just cause I threw some dead squirrels at you for arrestin’ my brother didn’t mean I didn’t get a good look at ya.” 

Rick laughed. “Whatever.”

“Seriously. Pressed uniform, big hat, long, lean legs, tight ass… and those damn blue eyes lookin’ all sorry you had to take Merle away from me.” As soon as the words were out, Daryl turned aside, as if he feared he’d revealed too much. 

“Hey.” Rick touched his shoulder. Daryl turned back but still kept his eyes downcast. “I’d never make fun of you for telling me that. I just… it never occurred to me.”

Daryl bit his lower lip, finally meeting Rick’s gaze. “You have no clue how you look, do ya?”

“Uh…” Rick had no idea how to respond to that. Sure, a few women had flirted with him from time to time, but he’d been a happily married man and really hadn’t paid much attention to it. Thinking a guy had looked at him that way… that was something else entirely.

“Bet you never noticed men’s eyes on ya,” Daryl went on, seeming sure of himself as he talked. “Believe me, I’ll bet dozens gave you the once over – but Sheriff Rick never even knew.”

Rick shook his head, chuckling a bit. “I guess I must have been oblivious. If we’re ever out someplace and you see them lookin’ at me, be sure to point it out, okay?”

“We ever go out where gay men start lookin’ at you, I’ll point it out,” Daryl vowed, “you’ll know when I punch some dude in the face for it.” He sounded completely sincere. 

“Yeah?” Rick felt really out of his depth. Not only were they discussing the unlikely scenario of other men sizing him up, but now Daryl was informing him that he wouldn’t be happy about it. “You watchin’ out for my honor?”

“Shit, no.”

“What, then?”

“You need me to spell it out, Grimes?” Despite the faint blush spreading over Daryl’s cheeks, he met Rick’s eyes. “We go out someplace, I ain’t sharin’. Never had nobody before. This is different.” Suddenly, he looked away, as if the bold words he’d uttered surprised him. “I mean…”

Rick reached out and touched Daryl’s forearm. “It’s okay. This _is_ different. Just so you know, I don’t want anybody else. Only one I want looking is you.” He paused a moment. “I mean that. I’d like to go out someplace with you. You know, where we could act like we’re together. But we _are_ together.” He shifted, not really sure how to say what he felt needed to be said. “I didn’t want to…you know… presume… but that’s what I want. You’ve got somebody now. And I’m glad to be the one.”

Daryl hung his head for a moment, then looked up, his eyes clear, expression slightly amazed. “Rick – the things you say…” He shook his head, then grabbed Rick’s hand, squeezing it tight, letting touch do his talking for him. 

 

They parted soon after, Daryl to head home where he would pick up his tools and go to his customer’s house to put up cabinets, Rick following him outside to climb into his car and make a quick trip to the grocery store. Rehearsal was to be early today, with the play going up the following weekend. Rick watched Daryl climb onto his motorcycle and gun the engine, the memory of the other man’s lips on his own just inside his front door warming him all over. It was going to be a long few hours ‘til they saw each other again.

At the store, Rick wandered, grabbing milk and bottled water and some sweet tea and soda. He added some ground beef to his cart and then realized if he made burgers, he’d also need buns. And he was out of ketchup and mustard too. He went to the salad bar and loaded up on fresh cut greens and other fixings, grabbing a few packets of dressing because he didn’t know what kind Daryl liked. Remembering his friend barely touched anything green, he resolved to get him to eat more healthy in the future and then scoffed at himself for acting like he was in some typical heterosexual relationship. Still, het or gay, salad was good for you and if he figured out some kind of dressing that would make it more palatable to Daryl, then maybe the man would consume more than just meat and potatoes and beer. That reminded him – he needed more coffee too. 

Still thinking about their night together and the nice morning, Rick wasn’t paying much attention to anything else as he got in line to pay. Then he heard the cashier talking to the customer in front of him. 

“Did you see this?” the forty-ish woman was saying as she glanced at the local newspaper. “They are doing some kind of gay play downtown!”

“Really?” The cashier paused in ringing up the woman’s chicken. She leaned over the register to look at the paper. Rick discreetly tried to see the article without looking as though he was eavesdropping.

“It says, “local theater troupe opens gay play,” the woman read, raising her voice as if she were an announcer. In the next aisle over, a man turned toward them.

“I saw that on the tv news last night,” he told them.

“I did too,” said the cashier who had been waiting on the man.

“It was on the tv?” asked the cashier in Rick’s aisle. 

“Yes!” the other cashier confirmed. She rolled her eyes. “As if people in this town want to see faggots actually kissin’ up on stage like it’s _normal_!” She punctuated her comment with an expressive shudder. 

“My brother is gay.” A woman passing by with her bagged groceries in her cart said. There was a toddler sitting in the basket. From the tone of her voice, Rick couldn’t tell if she was okay with her brother or not.”

The cashier turned toward the newcomer. “Oh, Darlene,” she said, “I’m so sorry about that.”

Rick’s eyes went to Darlene’s face, suddenly extremely interested in her reaction.

“It’s okay, Mary Ellen,” she told the cashier. “Mom and Dad don’t talk to him anymore.” She paused, taking a package of frozen peas from the toddler’s hands. Then she looked back up, noting that the eyes of both customers, both cashiers and Rick were all on her. “But he’s my brother. I still love him.”

The cashier named Mary Ellen nodded sagely. “That’s good. It’s the Christian thing to do. Hate the sin, love the sinner.” The others remained silent. Rick thought the woman who’d brought the news article to everyone’s attention looked the most disturbed. 

Darlene seemed to look past the others, her eyes meeting Rick’s. He tried to keep his face blank but the conversation was affecting him on many levels. To hear people saying the play was “gay” was bad enough. “Fifth of July” was so much more than that in the first place, but Rick had really believed that even his small Southern town had progressed into the twenty first century, at least a bit. And considering that he was now, since spending the night with Daryl, really a gay man, to hear people so casually condemning who he _was_ was very disconcerting. Part of him wanted to speak up, to announce that the play wasn’t gay but that he was, to tell them they were acting like it was their business if a play had gay characters and if someone else was gay or bi or even asexual. 

He couldn’t just stand by. “I’ve read the play,” he said, unable to keep quiet any longer.

The customer who had started it actually gapsed. “You have?”

“Yes, and it isn’t a ‘gay play’ as if all the characters are gay and all they talk about is being gay. It’s about characters coming to grips with their life choices, young and old and straight and yes, gay but that is not the entire story. It’s being blown out of proportion by someone who really doesn’t even know what they are talking about.”

“If you support such things, of course you’d say that,” the cashier named Mary Ellen said, giving him a cold look. 

“I take my time and find out the facts and then I support things rather than believing gossip,” Rick declared. He glanced at the items he had selected, suddenly not wanting to buy them. “I think I’ll do my shopping someplace else today.” He turned and walked out of the store, not looking back. 

“I guess we know where he stands,” he heard the other cashier comment, followed by giggling. 

The sound of shopping cart wheels was suddenly loud behind him. “Sir…” a voice called out, sounding urgent but uncertain.

Rick turned. It was the woman named Darlene and her young child. “Yeah?” he tried to hold back the anger seething through him. 

“I’m sorry they said that stuff,” she said as soon as she was close enough to speak in a lower voice. 

“It’s okay.” It really wasn’t but Rick didn’t have any other comment to offer.

“And I don’t hate my brother,” she went on, raising her chin a little. “I don’t hate him and I don’t think he’s a sinner.”

Rick nodded. “I’m sure you don’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I’m so sick of this small town.” She looked forlorn, unhappy, unable to change the way people thought and tired of it. “It’s twenty sixteen for goodness sake.”

“I know.” Rick offered her a smile. “Sorry it’s been rough for you.” He hesitated, then added. “The play is really good. It was one of the first Broadway shows with gay characters that are accepted by their entire family.”

“Sounds good to me,” Darlene smiled. “I think I’ll go see it.”

“You’ll enjoy it. It opens Friday night.” Rick put out his hand and she responded, holding on and shaking his firmly.

“Have a good day.”

“You too.” He climbed back into his car and just sat for a moment, taking in what had happened. His own life aside, if people were still talking about the play this morning, even after Hershel said on the news that it wasn’t the way Merle had painted it, there just could still be a problem. Deciding to skip getting groceries, Rick turned his car in the direction of downtown and the theater.

When he pulled into the parking lot, he found that things were worse than he’d imagined. There was actually a small group of protesters walking back and forth in front of the main doors to the theater. They had signs “No Gay Plays” and “We want moral theater in our town.” Just as he was about to reach for his phone, someone tapped on his car window.

Turning, he saw that it was Hershel. Maggie and Beth were standing beside him. Obviously, they were aware of what was going on. Something had to be done – but Rick had no clue what that something was.


	22. Remember Going "All the Way"?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The repercussions of Merle learning there were gay characters in the play continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, yes, it's been a really long time. RL was part of the reason and also part had to do with fandom itself. Plus, I was stuck in the middle of this for ages and I'd come back to it and try to fix it and write a line or two over and over again but never really got it to click. Finally, I got the urge to write and picked it up again and suddenly figured out how to manage this and of course it was simple, but I had been complicating it. So here it is at last and i swear it won't ever be so long between chapters again. Thanks for all the patience you readers have shown me with this.
> 
> And thanks so much for the encouragement from my dear friend and beta, MaroonCamaro.

_Remember Going "All The Way?"_

Rick climbed out of the car and walked around to the other side, joining Hershel, Maggie and Beth. All three of them looked troubled by the gathering of protesters.

“How long have they been here?” he asked, eyeing the group walking back and forth in front of the entrance to the theater. There were only about eight of them, he realized, thankful it wasn’t a larger crowd. Mostly consisting of older adults, the majority of them women, they didn’t look too dangerous. But their faces were ugly with their hatred.

“About an hour,” Hershel responded.

Rick’s emotions were on overdrive, having just left the grocery store where the play had been derisively discussed. He had always hated prejudice in any form and it was a new experience having it directed toward himself, even if obliquely. He took in the faces of Hershel and his daughters and wished he knew how to deal with the situation. His own feelings had to be pushed aside – the play was the important thing here.

“I’ve never been protested before,” Beth said, sounding both shy and intrigued.

“I haven’t either,” Hershel sighed. “And I can’t say I much like it.” His cell phone began to ring and he didn’t look happy when he checked the caller ID. “I have to take this.” He moved off to speak to whoever had called.

Rick suspected it was someone on the theater board. This was getting out of hand and they needed to figure a way to stop it before it got any worse. If what Hershel had said on the news last night didn’t end the controversy, he didn’t know what would.

“That was Milton Mamet on the phone,” Hershel said, rejoining him. “He’s the secretary of the board of directors. He says we need to hold a press conference.”

“Really?” Maggie sounded worried. “Daddy, you went on the news last night --”

“And apparently, not enough people saw that,” Hershel said.

“They just don’t understand,” Beth added. “They heard that one lady talking and ignored what you said.”

“People do tend to believe the negative before the positive,” Rick said, thinking of the response to his comments at the store earlier. When he defended the play, they had thought he was speaking as a gay man and thus prejudiced about it. That was true, but the play really was so much more. And it was ridiculous to assume there was going to be gay sex going on in it!

“Should we just talk to these protesters or something?” Beth asked, looking at them skeptically.

“It might be worth a shot. They probably aren’t really organized,” Rick suggested.

Rick looked at Hershel and then shifted his gaze to include Maggie and Beth as well.

“It couldn’t hurt, I suppose,” Hershel said, sounding unconvinced.

“At the very least, you could suggest they move over to the street instead of just walking back and forth right in front of the door.” Rick knew that free speech allowed protests as long as they took place on a public street and didn’t block traffic or the free movement of people into and out of buildings.

Together, the four of them headed toward the small group of sign-carrying people who were circling back and forth in front of the theater entrance. Rick felt his back stiffen and he knew he was taking on the attitude he’d had as a deputy sheriff. He might not wear the uniform any longer, but he could still command an authoritative tone when he needed to. He’d let Hershel take point but he was there for back-up. It would be needed, he was certain.

“Excuse me,” Hershel said, his voice going deeper than usual as he stopped in front of the group. “Can I help you folks with something?”

“We’re fine.” The younger of the two men in the group responded first, barely glancing at Hershel. He had stringy, dirty blond hair and, to Rick’s practiced eyes, looked shifty, as if he had done time. He put a proprietary hand on the arm of the young woman who was walking nearby. She looked up at him and something about her gaze made Rick think they were a couple. There was another, younger girl on the opposite side of her and there seemed to be a family resemblance between the two. The others, all older women except for a black man in his thirties, seemed to follow the stringy-haired guy’s lead, keeping their heads down and pretty much ignoring the presence of Hershel, Rick, Beth and Maggie.

“You can’t keep walking back and forth in front of the entrance to the building,” Rick said, already done with the attitude of the protesters.

“Sir, we do have the right to protest.” This voice was softer, measured, polite. Rick looked over at the black man and noted he was wearing a priest’s collar.

“You have the right to assemble but you can’t block the entrance to a public building,” Rick told him. “Y’all will have to move away from the doors here and go down to the sidewalk.”

“Says who?” the first man spoke up, clearly trying to bait Rick.

“Now, Dwight,” the priest said, raising a hand as if to calm the other man down. “We agreed we wouldn’t do anything aggressive here.”

“Those signs seem a bit aggressive to me,” Hershel responded. He looked at them as the small group continued to march. “No Gay Plays,” he read, “how original. But you folks don’t really know anything about the play we’re doing here.”

“You won’t be doin’ it, if we have any say,” one of the woman said, stopping and glaring at Hershel. Her curly hair was sticking out, frizzy from the humidity. Her sign proclaimed that, “God Hates Gays.” Rick noticed that it was a little ragged around the edges, as if she had not just made it for today but that it had seen previous use.

“I thought God loved everyone,” Rick said, stepping up next to Hershel and effectively blocking her path.

“Excuse me.” Beth’s soft voice broke into the tension filled moment. “Aren’t you Mrs. Neudermeyer?”

“Y-yes.” The woman looked perplexed, staring at Beth for a moment. “You’re… Beth Greene?”

“I am,” Beth smiled, as only she could, seemingly unruffled by the hostility all around her. “Your daughter and I went to school together. This is my father. Dad, this is Suzie Neudermeyer’s mom.”

“Oh yes, I met your daughter several times when she visited us at the farm,” Hershel said smoothly. He offered his hand and the woman awkwardly shifted her sign to her left hand to take his in her right.

“Now, Shelly,” the other mature woman in the group spoke up, “we didn’t come here to make friends.” She was older than Mrs. Neudermeyer and her grim face was framed by her wispy hair. She took a drag on her cigarette, coughed and then dropped the butt on the ground, grinding it out with her foot. “We came to protest and we can’t protest if we stop and have a coffee klatch.” Rick noticed that her sign read, “Clean Plays Only.”

“Molly, there’s no reason to be rude,” Mrs. Neudermeyer said, looking perplexed. “We just want these good people to know that our community doesn’t want plays that are immoral to be given here.”

“It’s not immoral,” Beth said, and Rick appreciated the sincerity in her voice. “It’s not a play for children, but it’s hardly immoral.”

“There’s gays in it though,” the first man said, turning to glare at Rick and his group. “That’s immoral right there.”

“That’s right,” the third older woman said, coming to a stop behind him. She bent over and rubbed at her hip as though it was aching from walking. 

“There are gays in the world,” Maggie said, sounding exasperated. “This play was on Broadway in the early ‘80s. It’s not radical or immoral in any way. It’s about a family. It’s funny.”

“But it has homos!” the woman who’d been smoking snarled. “We don’t want to see that kind of thing here.”

“Then don’t come to the theater,” Rick said, trying to sound patient, despite his annoyance. “Nobody’s forcing you to come see it.”

“We’ve been putting plays on here for ten years,” Hershel spoke up. “Have any of you attended any of the performances here?”

“I’m not that into plays,” the smoking woman said, “but that’s beside the point.”

“If y’all don’t go to plays, why do you care what kind of plays are being put on then?” Maggie didn’t bother to hide her feelings.

“Hey, now!” the skinny blond guy took an aggressive step toward Maggie. Rick inserted himself between them.

“Watch it,” he told the guy in a low tone. “Let’s keep it civil. I’m gonna need you folks to take this out on the public sidewalk. You can’t block the entrance to the building.”

“It’s a public building,” the priest said, his voice genteel, eyes darting back and forth between Rick and the skinny guy.

Hershel moved in close again, phone in his hand. “I’ve called the police. You can move to the sidewalk now or let them tell you to do it when they get here.”

“Dwight,” the youngest of the party said then, “I don’t wanta get arrested.”

“Shut up, Tina,” the lanky guy ordered. “Nobody’s gonna get arrested.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Rick told him smoothly. 

“I been protestin’ since the sixties,” the cigarette smoking woman declared. She lit up another and started walking once again, hoisting her sign higher. “Come on, you wimps! Is this a protest or a garden party?”

The rest moved to continue marching, but Rick noticed that the young girl called Tina and the oldest of the women who was now limping, didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic. Nevertheless, the skinny guy called Dwight, the woman whose hand he was again holding, the priest and the two other women appeared more determined.

Maggie looked at Rick, anger in her face. Beth seemed about to burst into tears. Hershel looked like he was about to have a stroke. 

“You did the right thing, Hershel,” Rick told the man. “The cops’ll get here in a few minutes and this thing will end.” _I hope so._ he added silently.

He motioned to his friends and Maggie, Beth, Hershel and Rick walked back in the direction of Rick’s car. “I don’t think we should hang around them so close right now,” he said. “We don’t want the cops to think we’re part of it and talkin’ to them will just get them more riled up.”

“You’re right, Rick,” Maggie said, nodding. “I was getting pretty steamed at them.” She shook her head, obviously trying to dispel the tension she was feeling.

“Daddy, we can’t let them ruin the play,” Beth said then, her brow furrowed in worry.

“They’re not going to ruin it, Bethie,” her father staunchly informed her. He slid his arm around his daughter, drawing on the patience he was known for. “They’re actually doing us a favor with all this attention.”

“That’s right,” Rick added. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity.” He didn’t really believe that adage though, after the way things had been going this morning. He couldn’t help visualizing an empty house on opening night. Or hecklers yelling as he and Shane kissed the first time on the stage.

Then he thought about Daryl and how he was going to feel about the protesters – how much had his brother’s small interference done to cause this? Rick had never expected it to snowball so fast. But this was a small town. In Georgia. Even though it was the twenty first century, not everyone had moved with the times.

Rick’s phone chimed with an incoming text. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that it was Daryl. He didn’t want to tell him what was going on, but he knew he shouldn’t hide it from him either.

“Where are you? I texted twice,” Daryl’s message read. Rick realized he hadn’t noticed his phone receiving the previous texts while he was concentrating on the protest.

“At the theater,” Rick typed. “Got a situation.” He held his breath and hit send.

“What’s wrong?” came the immediate reply.

“Hershel’s interview didn’t work. We got a little group of protesters.”

“WTF?” was Daryl’s eloquent response.

“Mostly older women but there’s also a priest and some skinny guy with his girlfriend or something. They’re blocking the entrance so Hershel called the cops.”

“I’m only fifteen minutes away,” the next text from Daryl read. “I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t have to stop work,” Rick told him. “It’s not that bad.”

“I need to be there. Have you called Michonne?”

Rick hadn’t thought of that. “Calling her now.” He thumbed through his contacts and clicked on Michonne’s name.

“Hi, Rick,” Michonne’s voice answered almost right away.

“Michonne, there’s some trouble over here at the theater,” Rick said without preamble.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Remember how the news showed some old lady who heard about the gay stuff in the play from Daryl’s brother?”

“Yeah. And Hershel went on the news to say it’s no big deal.” Michonne sounded skeptical, obviously thinking that it would all blow over the way Rick had expected it to.

“Well, I guess it’s a bigger deal than we all thought.” Rick noticed that Hershel, Maggie and Beth were looking at him questioningly and he mouthed that he had Michonne on the phone. “There’s a few people marching back and forth in front of the entrance to the theater.”

“What?”

“They have signs and everything.”

“Good God, that’s ridiculous. I’m on my way.” Michonne clicked off before Rick could say good-bye but he understood.

“She’s coming,” he told the others. “So is Daryl.”

“This is going to turn into a circus,” Hershel observed. “I don’t want to make things worse…”

“At least it won’t seem so one sided with more of us here too,” Maggie reasoned.

“She’s right, Daddy,” Beth agreed.

Hershel just nodded. He glanced back toward the sign carrying protesters, clearly unhappy.

Maggie pulled out her phone. “I’m callin’ Glenn,” she told the group. “Maybe we should let some more of the cast know what’s happening.”

Rick wasn’t sure if he agreed but then again, the cast was in this together. They were like a family, bonded from rehearsing together for weeks, the tides of emotions that ran through the characters weaving them together as if they’d known each other for years. He ran through his contacts list again, this time clicking on Shane’s name. The phone rang a few times before the other man picked up.

“Hey, Rick,” Shane’s affable voice came over the line. “What’s up? We don’t have rehearsal until this afternoon, do we?”

“You're right, but there's something goin' on,” Rick said, sighing as he began the story again. He briefly filled Shane in on what was happening and asked him to come over to the theater if he could.

“Uh… not sure I can get away,” Shane hesitated. “I mean, what do you want me to do? You said Hershel already called the cops.”

“Yeah, he did but some of the others are coming and I just thought you’d want to be here.” Rick found it odd that Shane seemed reticent; the man usually enjoyed any publicity.

“I’ll see if I can take an early lunch,” Shane said finally. “If I can’t make it, tell Hershel I tried.”

As he hung up, Michonne’s jeep pulled into the lot. Rick could see she had Andre with her. Beth hurried over to the vehicle to greet the little boy.

Michonne smiled at her distractedly and headed toward Rick and Hershel, while Beth took the toddler’s hand and followed.

Nodding at her friends, Michonne didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “I thought you said you called the police.”

“I did, dear,” Hershel told her. “They just haven’t gotten here yet.”

“Maybe we should call again,” Michonne responded, eyeing the protesters.

Rick was just pulling out his phone when a squad car entered the parking lot. Two officers climbed out, their uniforms dark against the sunshine.

After a look at the protesters, they turned toward Rick’s group. They approached them, the slim young woman leading the way.

“I’m Lieutenant Lerner,” she said, introducing herself. Her hair was dark and pulled back in a severe bun. “This is Sergeant Lamson.” The balding cop nodded briefly.

“I’m Rick Grimes,” Rick said, taking charge. “We need to be able to get into our building for rehearsal, and these… folks… are blocking the entrance.” Though it wasn’t strictly rehearsal time, he knew the law stated that protesters shouldn’t block the doors to buildings or keep citizens from going about their business.

With a nod to him, Lieutenant Lerner turned to glance over the group that was still marching in a broad circle, chanting. She nodded at the Sergeant and the two of them headed toward the circling group, with Rick and the others following him.

“Who’s in charge here?” Lerner asked when she got close to the protesters. Rick noted her no-nonsense approach.

The skinny guy stopped and turned toward the uniformed officers. “I am,” he said. He squinted at them, his face taking on a more belligerent expression. “Is there a problem… officer?”

“That’s Lieutenant,” Lerner corrected him. “Yes, there is. What’s your name?”

He shifted his sign from his right to his left shoulder. “Dwight Evans.” Rick could hear the unspoken ‘what’s it to you?’ hanging in the air.

“Do you have a permit for this activity?” Lerner pressed.

“You said we didn’t need a permit!” one of the ladies, the one who was limping said, sounding shocked.

“We don’t,” Dwight snapped. “There’s only seven of us.”

“Regardless of how few of you there are,” Lerner broke in, “you need a permit if you’re going assemble on the streets and carry signs.”

“Since when?” The cigarette-smoking woman, Molly, Rick thought they’d called her, snapped, raking her eyes over Lieutenant Lerner as though she was filth. Rick recalled how she’d claimed she’d been protesting for years so she probably thought laws never changed. “We’ve got the right to assemble and to free speech.”

“Not if you’re blocking the walkway or impeding the entrance to a public building,” Lerner told her, unruffled by her attitude. “You’re going to either have to break it up and go home, or you’re going to have to go over there, to other side of the parking lot where you won’t be right in front of these doors. I don’t want to see you on the sidewalk, blocking pedestrians either.”

“If we’re way over there in the parking lot, nobody will understand what we’re doing,” the priest said, sounding worried.

Rick didn’t see the issue but then, he was hoping they’d just give up and go home. He kind of thought if nobody figured out what they were doing, it would be a good thing.

“And your name, sir?” the lieutenant asked.

“I’m Father Gabriel Stokes,” he responded. “These are some of my parishioners.”

Rick noted that the man’s eyes glanced away from Lerner when he said that and decided he was lying. While the lady Beth had called Mrs. Neudermeyer looked like she might attend church, the others didn’t. At least not on a regular basis. Still, the priest had seemed to know this Dwight fairly well.

“Don’t you have anything better to do on a nice day like this, Father?” Lerner asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Well…”

“She can’t just come up and tell us what to do,” Molly said, her gravelly voice sounding determined.

“Think again,” Lerner responded. She pulled out a notebook and pen. “I want to see everyone’s I.D. Sergeant, you take down the names of the gentlemen and I’ll handle the ladies.”

“Please,” Sherry spoke up, her eyes wide and worried. “Don’t arrest us. We’ll go to the parking lot.”

“I still need to see IDs,” Lerner insisted.

Sherry was looking up at Dwight with real fear on her face. Rick instinctively knew there was something going on there. Either one of them, or maybe both, had had run-ins with the law before. Maybe he was on probation. Or there could be warrants out on the couple.

“I didn’t bring my purse,” the younger girl said fearfully.

“Tina, ya damn brat,” Dwight bit out.

“Leave her alone,” Sherry told him, going to the other girl and putting her arm around her shoulders. She turned them both in the direction of the lieutenant. “This is my sister, Tina. She’s only seventeen. I’m Dwight’s wife, Sherry Evans.”

Lerner proceeded to make some notes, taking the licenses she was handed by first Sherry and then the others and looking them over carefully.

The tough older woman, Molly, pretended to accidentally drop her license when it was her turn. Waiting with a look of extreme patience on her face, Lerner made no move to pick it up. Finally, young Tina bent down to retrieve it.

Rick heard the sound of Daryl’s motorcycle then and didn’t know if he was relieved or more worried. He turned from the group and walked over to meet Daryl where he’d parked his bike.

He looked harried, his hair damp with sweat as he pulled off his helmet and strode toward Rick. They didn’t touch, but Rick sure wanted to. Daryl leaned toward him, keeping his voice low.

“So, what’s up?”

“Cops are taking names,” Rick said. “So far, so good.”

“Damn Merle,” Daryl said, shaking his head worriedly. “I can’t believe this shit.”

“It is… bizarre,” Rick agreed. “He told one person…” He let his voice trail off, truly mystified as to how things had escalated so quickly from Merle’s chance meeting as he left the theater.

“Typical,” Daryl said, eyeing the protesters through squinted eyes. “Outta jail for a week and managed to stir up this kinda trouble.”

“I’d hate to see what he’ll do a month from now,” Rick said, trying to find the humor in the situation.

“Christ, don’t borrow trouble,” Daryl chided. “I’m bettin’ this isn’t all just from talkin’ to one old battle-axe.”

“What?” Rick had assumed it was all a coincidence.

“Man, it’s a _protest_ …” Daryl said, “and look at that jerk who’s actin’ in charge. He’s done time or I don’t know nothin’. Merle probably met him in the slammer.”

Now that Daryl had brought it up, the pieces began to make sense to Rick too. It was hard to believe though, that Daryl’s brother would go to this much effort just because he’d found out the play had gay characters.

“But, why?” he asked, though he feared he already knew the answer.

“Whaddya think, Rick?” Daryl answered, his eyes taking on a flat, resigned look. “To fuck me up. What else?” He turned and strode away, anger and tension in every line of his body, his fists clenching and unclenching like he wanted something -- or someone -- to hit.

Rick thought he might just climb on his bike and ride out of there, but Daryl passed it, aimlessly stomping toward the far side of the parking lot. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit up as he stormed off. Rick let him take a minute but knew he couldn’t leave him by himself too long or Daryl would get more wound up.

Rick walked rapidly toward him, calling his name as loud as he dared, not wanting to have the others realize what was happening and come over to try to talk to them. When Daryl reached the far side of the lot, he turned, though he didn’t raise his eyes to Rick. He stood with his head down, hair obscuring his face, shoulders stiff.

“I’m gonna quit,” he said when Rick was in hearing.

Rick had been afraid of that. “Daryl… what I told you last night – that hasn’t changed.”

“I know what you said. You were proud of me for not leavin’ when Merle said. You reminded me I got friends here. But I don’t wanna be the reason this play gets fucked up. I don’t want to let everybody down!” He took a deep drag and then threw his cigarette down, grinding it out with his boot.

“The only way you could let us down is by quitting now.” Michonne’s voice startled Rick. He hadn’t realized any of the others had even noticed Daryl’s arrival.

It was obvious that Daryl was as shocked by Michonne’s words as Rick was. The man literally flinched at them, though she was still at least a yard away from the two men.

Rick glanced around, relieved that nobody else had come along with Michonne. Hershel, Beth, Maggie and Glenn, who must have arrived sometime after Daryl, were still talking to the cops and the protesters had apparently moved to the other side of the parking lot.

“Michonne – “ he began, not sure he should ask her to leave him and Daryl alone or if he welcomed her intervention.

She didn’t even spare Rick a glance, moving in toward Daryl with purpose. “Daryl, Rick’s right,” she said, her voice softer now, “you do have friends here. And we need you. Nothing that fool brother of yours does could make us not want you here. This play is just as much yours as it is mine, or Rick’s, or anyone else in the cast.”

Daryl wasn’t looking at her. Or Rick. He looked like a kid, cornered by the grocer he’d been trying to rob.

“Set’s finished,” he said finally. “Don’t need me…”

“There’s still more that needs done on it,” Michonne contradicted. “And I need you during the run too. You’re the stage manager.”

To Rick’s surprise, Daryl let out a gruff laugh. “I’m whatever title you want to give me, depending on the day of the week,” he said, eyes darting everywhere but at the woman speaking to him.

“Whatever it takes,” Michonne said agreeably. “Can I help it if you’re a jack-of-all-trades?”

“Master a’ none,” Daryl concluded, his words mirthless, flat. He looked at Rick finally, seeming to beg him for help.

“I’m on her side,” Rick told him, then realized how that statement must sound. “At least in this case. I don’t think you should quit. Let Merle deal.”

Daryl began pacing. “Oh, no. Fuck that. He won’t _deal_ … he’s never quit anything once he got it on his radar. He’ll see the damn theater burn down before he’s through.”

“Daryl, it’s not gonna be like that,” Rick said, trying to placate him. Despite Daryl’s well founded fears, he still thought that it would take more than an irate ex-con to prevent the play from going on.

“You don’t know him, Rick. Once his mind’s made up -- ”

“Daryl, he’s one person. He’s out of work, on parole, he’s still healing from losing his hand…” Michonne said, her voice striving for reason.

“He got them people to come here and march,” Daryl pointed out, his arm waving as he pointed them out.

“Why do you think that?” Michonne said, clearly shocked at the leap of logic.

“That one guy looks like he’s done time,” Daryl said, voice angry, chest heaving. “I lay you odds – Merle knows him, got him to come here with those people to bother us today.”

“Daryl, think,” Rick put in, wanting to go to him, reach out to him, but he couldn’t, not in front of Michonne. “It was on the news last night. There was an article in the paper this morning. It’s not all Merle’s doing.”

Instead of helping, the words seemed to agitate Daryl more. “In the fucking paper?” he wailed. “God damn it!”

Rick did approach him then. “What I’m tryin’ to say is that is that yes, Merle started it, but it snowballed. This is a small town. We all thought it wouldn’t happen but if he hadn’t started it, eventually word would have gotten out and someone would have said something negative and we’d be right where we are now.” Part of him wanted to relate what had happened in the grocery store that morning, but he wasn’t sure if it would help or hinder Daryl’s perception of things. He reached out, cautiously putting a hand lightly on Daryl’s shoulder and was relieved when the man didn’t flinch or shrug him away.

“Rick’s right.” Michonne’s calm voice seemed to reach the distressed man. He took a deep breath, looking up at Rick and the over at Michonne.

“Don’t matter,” he said, surprising Rick who had thought they had managed to turn Daryl’s thinking of quitting around. “Even if nobody found out, he still wants me outta here.”

“And even if nobody found out or went on the news or protested with signs, the last thing you should do is quit this show because of him,” Rick said, managing just barely to keep his voice level. Right now he wanted to break every bone in Merle Dixon’s smirking face.

“What can we do?” Michonne asked. “Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”

Daryl squinted at her for a second, obviously understanding the place her words came from, but Rick knew he wasn’t going to give her any suggestions. “Don’t need nobody to fight my battles for me,” Daryl said, his voice low, as if he was trying not to insult Michonne out right.

“That’s not what she’s sayin’,” Rick told him, though for his part, the idea that he could send Merle back to prison if he interfered with the play – and by extension his brother’s life – was something he was seriously considering. “Just that we support you,” he finished, knowing that sounded lame despite it being true.

“Michonne! Rick! Daryl!” Hershel’s voice carried from across the lot. “We’re goin’ inside. Come on in.”

“We’ll be right with you,” Michonne called back. She looked at Rick, her eyes pleading with him to not let Daryl leave.

Then she turned to the man still glaring down at the ground, his shoulders heaving. She reached out to touch his arm. “Daryl, we’re your friends,” she said, all the sincerity she possessed in her words. “We don’t want you to be upset. We want you to be proud of your work with us here. To enjoy it with us. We don’t care what your brother says or thinks. Or does.”

Daryl seemed to stop breathing for a long moment. Rick found he was holding his own breath too. Finally, Daryl shrugged and gave a grunt and a nod. With a last glance at Rick, Michonne turned to head back to the theater.

Rick waited until she was out of earshot. “You still with us?” he asked, worried about the answer, despite Daryl’s apparent acquiescence.

Daryl looked tired and Rick remembered how poorly the other man had slept last night. “For now,” he said, not looking too happy about it.

“Look, I’m sorry your brother did this,” Rick told him, but like Michonne said, we’re your friends. We need you.” He glanced around again, making sure they were alone. “ _I_ need you.”

Daryl lifted one hand as if to reach for Rick, then let it fall uselessly to his side. “I… I don’t…” He rubbed a hand over his face, his thumb falling between his lips, chewing on his nail in consternation.

“Daryl…” Rick wanted to hold him. To kiss him. To bring him back to the closeness they’d shared this morning. Last night. But they were out in broad daylight, too exposed, too raw from Daryl’s careening emotions.

“I’ll stay with the show,” Daryl said then, but there was something in his voice, something resigned and full of pain. “But… Rick… maybe we… shouldn’t…”

It was all Rick could do not to reach for Daryl then, but he forced himself not to. He couldn’t believe what Daryl was saying, didn’t want to comprehend. “You don’t mean that,” was all he could manage. “Not after last night.” It was wrong to say that, to try to guilt Daryl that way, but it was all he had.

“Don’t mean to hurt you, Rick,” Daryl said then. “S’not that I don’t… want…” His voice trailed off sadly. “But I can’t… never shoulda… I don’t – “

“Don’t you dare say you don’t deserve to be happy,” Rick told him vehemently. He wanted to pour his heart out, right here, right now, but he was so shocked and so worried that he couldn’t. And he knew he shouldn’t. “Daryl… don’t do this.” He tried to put everything he felt, everything he had meant last night and this morning into those few pleading words.

Daryl tore his eyes away from Rick’s then. Rick didn’t know if he had reached him or not. But he felt Daryl slipping through his fingers, the shy man too afraid of their new relationship after his brother’s meddling.

“If you want to step back for a minute, okay,” Rick said then, hating himself for relenting even that much. He didn’t want to let Daryl go without fighting for him. “I won’t push you. But I’m not giving up on you either.”

Daryl didn’t answer.

“You comin’ in the theater?”

“Tell Hershel I’m finishing up on that cabinet job,” Daryl said finally. “I’ll be here this afternoon.”

He straightened his shoulders and started walking back toward his motorcycle, leaving Rick standing alone, the Georgia sun beating down on him. He didn’t even have the heart to try to touch Daryl as he strode past him. The man was suddenly as unreachable as he’d been the first night they’d met at the auditions. Rick never felt more alone in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you'll recognize the protestors. Dwight, his wife Sherry and her sister Tina and Father Gabriel, of course. The rest are lesser known but all from the show. Mrs. Neudermeyer was the Alexandria resident who wanted a pasta maker and was killed by the Wolves. Molly from the Survivors, the ones who held Maggie and Carol hostage, was the one smoking. And the last was Mrs. McLeod from Woodbury, who because of her arthritis, couldn't fight with the Governor. I'm enjoying using so many characters from the series in this fic.
> 
> Next chapter will be from Daryl's POV!


	23. A Sweaty Ectomorph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Daryl's point of view as he goes to find out what Merle's been up to concerning the play.
> 
> It's shorter than the rest but I needed to get into Daryl's head a bit again. Next one is back to Rick's pov.
> 
> Thanks as always to the divine MaroonCamaro for the beta!

Chapter 23 – A Sweaty Ectomorph

Daryl maneuvered his motorcycle past the group of protesters who had moved to the side of the theater parking lot, making sure he noted all of their faces. As he drove past, the skinny blond guy glared at him and Daryl was more convinced than ever that the guy had been incarcerated. He was shaking inside at the thought of his own brother instigating the protest, trying to run Daryl’s life, trying to ruin something he cared about so much. 

He had to find Merle and something told Daryl his brother wasn’t at home. So he headed for Merle’s favorite watering hole, where he’d gotten into that fight with one of Merle’s old drug buddies. In a few minutes, he pulled up in front of The Drunken Deer. There was his own truck right in the driveway so he knew he’d guessed correctly.

Daryl parked his bike and climbed off, heading toward the door with a mixture of anger and concern in his heart. From Merle’s point of view, he was trying to help his little brother get out of what he thought of as a bad situation. But Daryl was done letting Merle tell him what was and wasn’t good for him. He’d spend the last six years on his own and was doing just fine.

He pushed the door open, his eyes attempting to adjust to the gloom of the bar’s interior. There weren’t many customers there at this early hour, and he had no trouble spotting Merle at the bar, two empty beer glasses in front of him and a cell phone in his left hand. He was trying to poke at the screen with the edge of his bandaged arm, while the Dukes of Hazzard theme music played to signal an incoming call. Daryl decided to wait to see who might be calling his brother.

“Hey, sugar lips,” he called to the woman behind the bar. “Can you help a fella out and answer this phone for me?”

Rolling her eyes, the young red head put down the glass she’d been polishing and all but stomped over to Merle. “You could put the phone on the bar and use your left hand to answer it,” she told him while taking it out of his hand anyway.

“Merle’s phone,” she said, bringing it up to her ear.

“But, honey, I’m right handed,” Merle said, affecting a pout, “or I _was_.”

She held the phone out to him, returning to her task as Merle took it from her.

“Yeah?” Merle answered as he pressed the device to his ear. “How’s it goin’?”

He listened for a minute, then laughed. “So they called the cops on ya, did they? Told ya it would get noticed quick.” He laughed again as his caller continued speaking. “Okay, keep up the good work, Dwight. Make sure the news gets wind of yer ‘protest’ too, okay?” He hung up without saying good-bye and after placing his phone back down, grabbed his glass to drain the rest of his beer.

“So you did set it up,” Daryl said without preamble, sliding onto the stool next to his brother. He felt gratified that his hunch had proved correct.

“Darylina!” Merle grinned over at Daryl, obviously pleased with himself. “Whacha goin’ on about?”

“That phone call, brother,” Daryl said, trying for amiable despite his anger. “I’m bettin’ that was some dude named Dwight with long, stringy blond hair who’s walkin’ back and forth in front of the theater, right?”

Merle actually laughed. “Hey, kid, you got pretty smart while I was outta town.” He didn’t seem annoyed that Daryl had figured out what was going on.

“You met him in prison, right?” Daryl demanded, too angry to be gratified his guess had proved accurate.

“Best place to make good pals,” Merle said affably. “Or enemies. Surprised you never tried it.”

“Pfft. One of us in there was enough,” Daryl answered.

“You still got time, little brother,” Merle said, patting him on the shoulder with his bandaged stump. “So, what brings you here this fine mornin’?”

“To talk to you,” Daryl said, “or try to. You just got a call from the asshole who was protesting the play at the theater. I wanna know why -- why not just let it go? What’s the big fuckin’ deal? It’s none of your business.”

“Anything has to do with my baby brother is my business.” Merle grinned up at him.

Daryl was done playing it light. “Why, Merle?” he asked, voice going low and dangerous. “Why are you doing this?”

“For you, baby brother.” Merle beckoned to the bar maid for another beer, his attitude still relaxed and as if all was right in his world.

“I told you, there’s nothing wrong with that play and I am not going to quit helping out with it.”

Merle just chuckled, reaching for the beer that had just been served to him.

Daryl grabbed the beer and pulled it away. “I mean it, Merle. You saw two seconds of the play and decided what it was all about. Now you’re shootin’ yer mouth off all over town, stirrin’ up trouble. I ain’t gonna put up with it no more.”

Merle looked at him, his gaze a bit fuzzy from too much alcohol, but still as mean as Daryl knew he could be. “You don’t know what’s best for ya like I do. They’re using you, baby brother. You was always the sweet one and ya can’t see they’re takin’ advantage of ya.”

Daryl swallowed hard, not wanting to come to blows with his brother at a bar at eleven in the morning. He tried to explain it to him one more time.

“You don’t know a thing about me, Merle. You think I’m still that stupid kid you left when you walked away from home all those years ago. You felt bad about leavin’ me, I get that. But I made it through, on my own, until the old man died.”

Merle seemed to be listening at least. “They ain’t _usin’_ me at that theater. I enjoy buildin’ the sets, I like workin’ with my hands. They’re my _friends_ and we all work hard, but we do it for fun, not money.”

“Yeah, right.” Merle rolled his eyes.

“You’ve been away for six years and forget that I was grown before that. I run my own business. I run my own fuckin’ life!” Now there was an edge in Daryl’s voice, anger and certainty ringing loud.

Merle reached over and pulled the full glass from Daryl’s hand. He brought it to his lips and drained it in one long gulp. “We’ll just see about that.”

Daryl got up from the stool and leaned in, getting right in Merle’s face.

“No, we won’t see,” he hissed, nose to nose with his brother, “You don’t care one way or the other ‘bout the play or the theater or the people I know there. The only thing you care about is throwin’ yer weight around, like you always done. You think losin’ that hand gives you a free pass to start runnin’ my life again, to be the top Dixon dog. But yer wrong.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry about yer hand, Merle, but it ain’t my damn fault. Listen to me, get this through yer thick fuckin’ head -- Yer not gonna do _anything_ else. Yer gonna call those assholes off. Yer gonna leave me the fuck alone and leave the theater alone too!”

Merle looked as though he was about to say something, but Daryl loomed closer, his voice low and menacing. “If you do somethin’ else, try to stop that play from goin’ on or keep me from that theater, you’ll have to look for a new fuckin’ place to sleep, brother.” He stood there, glaring at Merle for a long moment while he waited for something, anything, any sign that his brother was swayed by his words. Merle wouldn’t back down, he wasn’t made that way, but Daryl hoped at least for him to show that he understood, that he had at least some respect for Daryl.

Finally, Merle gave a sniff, not quite agreeing yet not complaining either. He shrugged as if unconcerned. “Whatever you want, Darylina. Makes no never mind to me.”

“Good,” Daryl spat. “Keep it that way.”

He turned away and strode out of the bar without a backward glance.

As he made his exit, he had half a mind to take the truck but he figured that would just anger Merle more. So he got on his motorcycle and headed back toward the theater.

Rick would be worried, he realized as he sped through the streets. So would Hershel and Carol and Michonne and probably even Beth. He wasn’t even really sure how he’d come to have all these people who were concerned about him. Part of him tried believe that the play would go on fine without his additional help, that it might be best in the long run to just do what Merle wanted and quit. Maggie could take over as stage manager and there were plenty of other volunteers around the place too.

Then he remembered Rick’s face, last night as his apartment and again this morning in the parking lot, as he told Daryl how important he was to the play, to the group at the theater. And to him.

And dammit, Daryl was sick of following Merle’s lead, of taking what he said as gospel, of believing that nobody wanted him except to take advantage of his generosity. He had liked building the sets, he’d liked having the friendship of Michonne and of Carol and her kid. And he had liked meeting Rick. For the first time in his life, he’d felt like he was truly worth something more than what his father and Merle had always told him he’d be. And he wasn’t going to let that go.

Earlier when he’d talked to Rick in the parking lot, he’d been about to quit. He’d been about to give up. Now, however, he felt differently. Rick had tried to explain it to him, to show him he was needed, appreciated. And that had helped. But telling Merle, to his face, that he wasn’t going to be pushed around had been satisfying, and enlightening. Used to be, he’d take Merle’s word when he said nobody would ever care about Daryl, nobody would ever value him. That only Merle himself cared about him. But he was done with Merle’s brand of ‘caring.’ It never had felt right. It had always felt like the crumbs a prince would toss the second born, promises that were never kept, feelings that were never real. Sure, Merle was warped and he couldn’t really help it, the way their dad had been with the both of them. He didn’t really know how to show he cared about Daryl. But if Daryl had managed to climb out of the hopeless depravity that their home had been, why couldn’t Merle? Why didn’t he even want to try?  
Daryl had tried, more than he had realized before today. He’d built his business, had loyal customers, and he had real friends – for the first time in his life. And more, he had Rick, who represented everything fine and good and honest in the world. Who showed Daryl every single day that he was more than just a redneck lowlife who didn’t deserve anything, least of all love.

For all long time, it had just been Daryl and Merle. For years, Daryl really hadn’t had anyone else. But now, he did have others in his life. Daryl cared about his brother, God help him, but the time had come to set Merle straight.

He had suspected that Merle had been behind the protest but hearing him on the phone with that guy had made Daryl’s heart sink and his blood boil. His brother had always taken an inordinate amount of glee in plotting and planning to get over on someone, to get and keep the upper hand. But why do this to Daryl now?

Maybe it was the sheer boredom of being out of jail but, due to his injury, having nothing else to do. Maybe he had had years to think of ways to torment his brother. Maye it was just fuckin’ jealousy that Daryl hadn’t withered away without him in the last six years.

Maybe Merle really, sincerely thought, in his homophobic heart, that he was helping Daryl.

Merle obviously had no clue that Daryl was gay. That’s the one thing Daryl had managed to hide from Merle all his life and he intended to keep it that way. He instinctively knew that if he tried to say, “I don’t care if the play’s got gay people in it, because I’m gay,” his brother would do more than just try to get it cancelled.

Merle might just try to kill Daryl for that.

He shuddered, and not from changing gears on his bike as he sped through the streets.

Maybe one day, he wouldn’t care if Merle knew.

Today was not that day.

Daryl pulled into the theater parking lot and cut the motor. The protesters were no where to be seen. He climbed off and strode inside, intent on one thing: finding Rick.

Nobody was in the main theater. Nor were they in the office where they usually had meetings. Daryl went down the stairs thinking someone might be in the workshop or the property room.

He found Hershel and Rick talking by the door.

“Oh, hello, Daryl,” the older man began, “I was worried you might not come back.”

Daryl didn’t pause as he reached for Rick’s arm. “I’m back. I’m stayin’,” he informed both men briefly as he entered the workshop, pulling Rick along with him.

“Good,” was Hershel’s response. From the corner of his eye, Daryl saw the theater manager turn and head down the hall in the opposite direction. He was glad, but it wouldn’t have stopped him from doing what he did next.

He was aware of Rick’s look of surprise at his abrupt manner, but that didn’t stop him either. He pushed Rick back against the wall and shoved his own body against the other man’s. He planted his mouth on Rick’s, kissing him hard, with all the passion he’d held in for so long.

Rick gasped as his mouth was taken, both in surprise and pleasure. His arms came up to surround Daryl, pulling him even closer, the fingers of one hand sinking into Daryl’s windblown hair and tugging while his other hand snaked underneath Daryl’s shirt to caress his skin.

Daryl shivered, loving the way Rick’s wandering fingers made him feel. He was aroused, proud and so glad he was right where he was, proud to be gay and in the arms of this particular man.

He broke the kiss finally, his lips feeling wet and bruised when he lifted them from Rick’s. “Any reason we need to hang out here the rest of the day?”

Rick looked at him, mouth plumped from Daryl’s sucking kisses, red and moist, eyes soft with banked lust. “No, not a reason in the world,” he said, voice husky and eager.

“Your place?” Daryl asked, stepping back slightly to run hungry eyes over Rick’s body.

“Hell yes.”

They turned together and marched, shoulder to shoulder, out of the theater.

 

 

 

 

  
.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... what do you think should I write next? More plot about the play? Or do we go back to Rick's place...?
> 
> Yeah, I thought so!

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been trying to come up with a decent idea for an AU for a couple of months. The other night, I was chatting with another Rickyl writer, MaroonCamaro, while watching the broadcast of _Grease, Live_. We wondered what if Rick and Daryl were in a play and laughed about them doing The Wizard of Oz. (We thought Eugene would make a good Cowardly Lion!) and suddenly, I realized that I know a lot about community theatre and that there is one play I love above all others. I saw “Fifth of July” several times many years ago on Broadway. My Trek friends and I, m/m relationship fans all, loved it. The show was recorded, with most of the Broadway staging and the actors we’d enjoyed so much, for a PBS broadcast and for years, all I had was a VHS copy of that. It was eventually released on DVD, but that version is cut somewhat – yes, I know the show that well. That’s because not only did I go, with my friends from those days, to just about any production of it I could find in the area, but we used to gather to watch it over the Fourth of July holiday every year. And I was thrilled when the young woman who would become my daughter-in-law directed the show and cast my son, who she had just started dating, in the pivotal role of Ken Talley. Nothing could make me a happier mom than to see my son kissing another boy on stage! My daughter-in-law to be said it made her nervous that she was directing my favorite show but she knew it was also a great way to get in good with me. Luckily her relationship with my son worked out and she also did a great job with the play. 
> 
> The more I thought about the show and our beloved characters from TWD, I realized it would work -- especially the idea of Rick in the role of Ken, the gay Viet Nam vet questioning his decisions now that he was home and the war was over. It’s a show that doesn’t get old, despite its setting, because even today we are questioning how we deal with the world, with wars our government decides to wage and how we feel about ourselves and our actions. I will try not to let the show itself overshadow Rick and Daryl but use it as a backdrop for getting them together. It was one of the earliest shows on Broadway to have an openly gay couple that the rest of the family completely accepted and that will certainly help with the Rickyl plot. 
> 
> I am dedicating this fic to the “Contact Crowd”, Mary and Michelle especially, and all the others who traditionally watched Fifth of July on the 4th every year, and to the memory of Bev Volker who hosted those parties, and NJ Kippax, her sister, both of whom not only loved this show as much I as do, but would be excited to see me using it in fanfic. They were my mentors in fandom back in the day, published my first fan stories in their landmark zine, Contact, and treated me like their third sister. I will always love and miss them.


End file.
